


The True Loves of the Fabulous Killjoys

by batslikepastel



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Frank Iero Is A Sweetheart, Frerard, Gerard Way is a Sweetheart, Idiots in Love, Love Letters, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mutual Pining, Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wedding Fluff, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:47:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25419454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batslikepastel/pseuds/batslikepastel
Summary: Poison and Ghoul had their first kiss in March.  March 22nd, 2016.  Poison's lips involuntarily twitch into a smirk for a split second- that is, until he remembers, and his heart gives a painful little twist.  New life, new rules.No thinking about breaking up the Killjoys, exactly 154 days ago.  No thinking about Ghoul and Jenny’s wedding, exactly 160 days ago.And definitely no thinking about Ghoul.***What if the Killjoys had broken up?  What if they had all settled down, away from the action?  And what if Poison and Ghoul had gotten married, but not to each other?When Poison hears a love letter on the radio, he comes to the realisation that the words, the tone, the message, everything- sounds all too familiar.It’s March 22nd again.  But he'd fallen out of love with Ghoul.Hadn't he?Or, what if the MCR breakup had been a Killjoy breakup?
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 56
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thank you for dropping by! Here's an angsty fic set in the Danger Days-verse but with a twist. 
> 
> Ps please don't repost this! Thank you :)
> 
> Enjoy xD

_**March 22, 2023** _

The radio crackles with static as Poison snatches it up and shakes it, frustrated. Useless bloody thing. He’s about to slam it on the table when he realises, with a jolt, that she’s asleep. He’s still not used to it, this whole, you know, _being married_ thing. He feels it again, that little catch in his throat when he sees the wedding band on his finger. It’s been what, three, four months?

He takes a big gulp of coffee and sets the mug back on the kitchen table. It’s not half bad, this place- a cozy little apartment on the outskirts of town, with peeling white paint and well-worn furniture. Not many neighbors, but he’s good with that; his mask-wearing, gun-wielding days are over. Who knew he’d find normalcy in the midst of the apocalypse itself? His hair is a cropped black now, no longer that shock of bright red anyone within the radius of a kilometer could see. He wears olive jackets and faded blue jeans now, instead of the blue bulletproof jacket with his symbol stitched on. That jacket, his mask-- God, his mask-- his gun, everything- all those memories are buried under the floorboards of his bedroom, marked with a red X.

Ghoul would approve of this place, he thinks, the clean freak that he is. His lips involuntarily twitch into a smirk for a split second-- that is, until he remembers, and his heart gives a painful little twist. New life, new rules. 

No thinking about breaking up the Killjoys, exactly 154 days ago. No thinking about Ghoul and Jenny’s wedding, exactly 160 days ago. 

And definitely no thinking about Ghoul.

His stomach clenches, unclenches. He downs the rest of the coffee.

The radio’s been quiet for a bit now; he gives it a petulant whack. It fizzles back to life. 

_“...and now, a message to all you broken, beaten and damned,”_ the inappropriately cheery voice is announcing. Dr Death Defying, radio broadcaster since the apocalypse in 2019. Poison can barely remember what life was like before that, to be honest.

“Today we present the love letter, a discarded letter in a bottle found not far from headquarters! Sit back, sunshine, and enjoy!” 

Poison quirks a curious eyebrow. Love letters? Since when has the radio broadcasts been about _those_ ? Or- or is he the weird one? Should he be writing Emilylove letters? As a former rebel leader, he knows how to weave emotion into each of his speeches. But sappy declarations of love on pen and paper- he’s never even ever thought about doing that for her. 

He hastily shoves the image of Ghoul out of his head as a snippet of crackly music plays. He hates himself. He’s fucking married, for fuck’s sake.

_“Dear love.”_

Someone starts talking, their voice soft and breathy. He frowns. He’s never heard that particular broadcaster before. 

_“I don’t even know how to start this letter. Should I apologise, say we made a mistake, or just burn all my thoughts?”_

He has to admit, he’s intrigued. He knows a thing or two about mistakes.

The voice goes on. _“So I’m not sending this out. I’m not naming names. I’m just sitting here, past midnight, trying not to cry as I say everything I’ve tried to hold in for years._

_We made a mistake, love. Yeah, I’m calling you love, because this is all in my head so fuck loyalty, I can say whatever I want. We made a goddamn mistake walking away from each other.”_

He’s surprised to find a lump in his throat. He never gets emotional about this kind of thing. But there’s something familiar about the way this speech is written. The tone of it. Which doesn’t even make sense, since the writer isn’t even the one reading it. And, well, it’s at least a situation that Poison knows all too well.

_“Why were we so proud? Why did we ever cheer for revenge? Honey, if we had a dime every time one of us got jealous, we’d both be billionaires. Because damn it, you know we’re both writers. We both write about being true to yourself, about living life with no regrets. Ironically, we write all this knowing, always knowing, that what we had is forever going to be our biggest what if. I could have changed our ending; you could have. All it took was a little bit of courage. We thought we had plenty of that, didn’t we? All those nights packed in the van with alcohol and drugs. We lived our lives so amped up on the adrenaline, who were we when the high ended and we crash landed back into reality?”_

His heart thuds painfully. Could it be…? Cheers for revenge- that was the Killjoy tagline. Could it possibly be…?

_“I don’t want to be broken again. You were selfish and you know it. And deep down, if I can’t have you, I almost want you to be haunted by that forever. Almost. Because I’ve seen you haunted, really haunted, and I never want you to go through that again._

_“Magic. Like...like fireworks,” you said that day. About us. It’s so damn stupid, because it’s crystal clear and the world can see it. Do you look at_ her _the way you used to look at me? No, damn it, no you don’t. It might even be better if you did, because I’d at least be reassured that you were truly in love. But you’re not, so blatantly not, that I can’t help wanting to slam my head into a wall. You always try to keep up appearances, try to make everything look perfect, when you know it and I know it. You chose wrong.”_

Poison’s heart is thumping like crazy now and his head is spinning. It has to be-- it has to be, it absolutely _has_ to be! 

His knuckles whiten around the handle of his coffee mug. Because he remembers saying it, the comment about magic and fireworks. He remembers it all, that interview with the rebel radio station, clear as day. Ghoul looking like an absolute dork after he said that, hiding his face from the cameras; other rebels laughing; Ghoul blushing even more.

Poison is painfully aware of the pathetic tendril of hope that’s blossoming in his chest. If it really is him, does that mean Ghoul still cares about him?

 _Emily, Emily, Emily,_ a little voice in his head warns. And, for the first time, he brushes it aside. 

_“I’m sorry I’m saying this, but at the same time I’m not. You don’t look like you in any of the pictures, you don’t look in love. I’m not saying you’re unhappy. You’ve got a new life, and that’s great. I mean, I spent half my life praying that you’d recover and live out your life to the fullest. I prayed that you’d have the kind of life you have now. I just kind of also, you know, included me in my vision of your future._

_What about me? Yeah, I mean, neither of us got off badly. We both have pretty good lives. It’s just, the love we’d chosen could have been ours._

_We chose wrong, love. So damn wrong. We weren’t blind, we never were. We just never realised you just can’t undo some things. We were just trying to endlessly overdo each other, each make a bigger move to push the other away while hoping they’d come closer. What happened in the end? We chose our best friends. Not each other.”_

Images flash in front of Poison’s eyes- Ghoul, guitar slung over his shoulder, heading into the van, turning around to smile at him. The way he closed one eye, always, just before firing his gun. His stupid roller skates, his stupid tattoos, his stupid smile, and the stupid way he looked at Poison-

_“You’re a new person now, as am I. The deal is sealed, everything put in a box in the attic, mark an X on the floor. Give me a shot to remember why the hell I still care.”_

_I have to go now, she’s waking up, and I know I sound so damn bitter, but I care so much, too much, because I keep thinking of you in that photo and how… how this life has taken the light behind your eyes.”_

His heart drops. It’s definitely Ghoul, stars above, can he _hear_ Poison’s thoughts? Or does he just know every pedantic little thing about him, up to exactly how he hides from the past in the form of dusty sealed boxes?

Damn it.

 _“What can I say, love? Fuck it, You’re never going to read this anyway. So...”_ The voice drops to a whisper. As if reveling in the knowledge of exactly what to say to drive him absolutely insane.

_“Thank you for the poison, love.”_

All the air leaves Poison’s body in a whoosh. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He can _not_ be thinking these things, he can’t keep dreaming of Ghoul, because that beautiful idiot isn’t his and can never be, but-

His fingers reach for the phone, as if acting of their own accord. It’s a tug-of-war between his heart and brain now, the latter firing shots of painful reality. His apparently bulletproof heart is winning.

He presses the numbers in quick succession; he doesn’t even need to stop and think. Which makes him wonder, exactly how long has he wanted to do this? The numbers are practically burned into his eyelids in shimmering gold. But it feels right, he realises, as he hits the buttons with something bordering on relief. He can feel it, even through his juddering heart. Even through the panic and the nerves clouding up his brain.

Because he’s a fucking idiot, his logical mind is screaming, but he shoves it out of the way with a vehemence he didn’t know he possessed. Because he’s fucking stupid, but yeah, that isn’t fucking news. He’s doing this.

Steeling himself, he presses the last digit. The familiarity of that simple act is disconcerting, like coming home after eight bitter years of staying away. It’s like a sweet sip of ice cold water in the middle of a desert. Poison needs this so much, so very much. He needs _him_. With fumbling fingers, he takes a deep breath and hits _dial_.

He calls Ghoul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably goes without saying that kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! If you'd like a continuation/extra scene where Poison and Ghoul finally meet, leave a comment :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Ghoul picks up on the third ring. His voice is raspy, heavy with sleep. “Hello?”

Poison can almost feel Ghoul’s warm breath ghosting the shell of his ear. “G-Ghoul,” he breathes. “Ghoulie.” His heart is thudding crazily and he’s vaguely aware that he has the phone in a death grip. “It’s me.”

“Poison?” He can hear the steel edge creep up into Ghoul’s voice, the iron gates snapping up in an instant like a rubber band. Triggered just by the sound of Poison’s voice. It feels like his heart is being wrenched in two.

In the silence that ensues, his ripped heart gets drenched in cyanide. _Please don’t hang up, please don’t hang up_ , he prays.

“Shit, Ghoulie, I miss you,” he whispers into the phone, already feeling the hot prickle of tears at the corner of his eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so sorry, Ghoulie. I’m so sorry for...for b-breaking up the Killjoys without telling you, and”- his voice catches in his throat- “And for leaving you like a fucking coward instead of ch-choosing you. I pushed you away because I was scared shitless. Fuck, Ghoulie, I was so scared. You deserved so much better, but I just had to fuck up and let you down because I’m fucking stupid, and- and….” Poison gasps for a shuddering breath.

“I know it’s too much to ask of you, and I don’t want to ask for anything from you, because I fucked up too much to even deserve a place in your life, but I...I just wanted you to know that I miss you terribly. And that I- I love you, Ghoulie, and I know you don’t feel the same, but I wanted you to know. Yeah. It’s the only fucking thing I know for certain now. I love you so fucking much, Ghoulie. Yeah. I love you I love you.” The words fall off his lips in a nervous rambling rush and he internally curses himself. His knuckles tighten around the phone, his palms slick with sweat.

The air around him seems to compress into dead weight on his shoulders, blocking his eyes, his nose, his mouth, and he forces himself to take a breath. In, out, in, out.

There’s silence on the other end. Then Ghoul finally speaks, and Poison nearly sobs with relief. “Poison,” he says quietly. “I appreciate the apology, I really do. It...it means a lot. So…thank you, I guess.” He clears his throat aggressively and Poison suppresses the lump in his throat. Ghoul is definitely fucking holding back tears; Poison can tell.

“I waited ten years for you to tell me that, you know,” he whispers then, so softly that Poison can barely catch the words as they fall. He does, though, and he holds them close to his chest. His heart is a dark mess of chemicals, stitched up and stabbed but still pumping.

Poison chokes back a sob. “I’m so fucking sorry, Ghoulie. And I know it’s too late, I do-”

Ghoul cuts him off. “You heard the letter, didn’t you?” His tone is weary. He sounds hoarse, defeated almost.

Poison nods, momentarily forgetting that Ghoul can’t see him. He seems to get it though, sighing deeply. “Well, fuck.”

“I know, it was a long time ago and it doesn’t mean anything now, and I really don’t expect it to, but I’m glad I found it. Because I’m finally talking to you again.” Poison squeezes his eyes shut, and prays for a miracle.

Ghoul sighs again, heavily. Poison can almost see him laying his head on the table. “It’s weird hearing you be all sappy now,” is all he says.

“W-When did you write the letter? You...you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Poison breathes out.

The answer is mumbled and barely audible. “Two months ago.”

Poison’s heart leaps into his throat and a small flare of hope sparks to life in his chest. Two months ago? Did that mean…was Ghoul still…?

 _He hasn’t hung up on you_ , the stupid golden glow of hope whispers into his ear, a fragile tendril of beautiful what-ifs. “Ghoulie, do you...do you want to talk? I-in person?”

He holds his breath and counts to three.

“Pois,” Ghoul says, his voice softer now, and Poison hates this. He hates how they went from being attached at the hip to walking on eggshells around each other. “It’s too late for us now, Pois.”

It doesn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat at the familiarity of the nickname, though.

Ghoul laughs bitterly. “If only we’d had this conversation a year ago. Fuck, we’d...we’d probably be married right now.”

Fuck. Poison would give anything to turn back time and tell his fucking idiot of a former self to just fucking admit his feelings for Ghoul. He’d broken up the Killjoys and moved here, which probably saved all their fucking lives, but he’d give all this up in a heartbeat. Shit, he’d give _everything_ up. He’d watch his carefully constructed plastic tower and everything he’d worked for burn if it meant he could spend one more day with Ghoul. _His_ Ghoul.

His tongue feels like lead. “I-I wish it were like that.”

He hears Ghoul’s breath catch in his throat. “Is that a fucking proposal, Pois?” It’s an awful attempt at a joke; the pain is still apparent in his voice. But it’s an attempt, nonetheless, and Poison chokes out a laugh, relieved that some of the tension seems to have dissipated.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a fucking proposal,” he says, playing along, knowing it’s all just a twisted fantasy. Knowing Ghoul will never be his. “What do you say, Ghoulie?”

He laughs, low and scratchy, and Poison revels in the knowledge that he made him laugh, even if just for a split second.

“The diner?” Ghoul asks quietly, and Poison’s heart stops. The diner is- was- the Killjoy headquarters, back in Zone 6. It was the heart of their entire operation. It was where Ghoul and Poison had gotten close. It was where they’d had their first kiss, their first date, everything. Poison swallows at the memory of shoving Ghoul into the worn seats and kissing him like there was no tomorrow.

And, well, in the end, there hadn’t been a tomorrow. Not for them, at least.

“I...I’ll meet you there?” Poison whispers.

“Y-Yeah. Yeah,” Ghoul breathes, and Poison is suddenly reminded of the boy he first met in the diner, fearless in the middle of a gunfight but reduced to a shaking mess once the brawl ended and Poison held him, stroking his hair and patching up his wounds. “Three o’clock?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” Ghoul lets out a shaky breath. “And I’ll, uh, let Jenny know,” he says, and Poison’s heart drops. Right. They’re married. He glances down at his wedding band, as if for reaffirmation.

“Of course.” He tries to sound nonchalant. “I’ll, uh, see you then?”

He can hear Ghoul’s half-smile through the phone. “Okay. Bye, Pois.”

“Bye, Ghoulie.” He doesn’t hang up; he waits for Ghoul to do it.

The line clicks and Poison slumps down in his seat. A million thoughts are coursing through his brain, buzzing like bees on a sugar high, and he’s weirdly jittery but drained and God, his heart is going to burst if it keeps up the frenzied pumping. It’s sending enough blood to his brain to last a vampire a month.

“Honey?” The phone clatters to the table as he turns around. Emily stands in the doorway, her blonde hair done in neat plaits and her petite figure swamped in a soft oversized black shirt that contrasts with her studded shorts. She smiles sleepily at him. “Morning.”

“H-Hey. Good morning, sweetheart,” he says, willing his voice not to shake. It doesn’t work; she sees right through him. He shoves aside his mental image of Ghoul and his discomfort- _still_ , after four months?- at calling his best friend _sweetheart_.

She sits down at the kitchen table beside him, brows knitted in concern. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

Pouring both of them cups of coffee, she pushes Poison’s mug across the table to him. He smiles at her gratefully. “Drink. Then talk.”

He doesn’t argue and takes a gulp. It scalds his tongue, but he barely cares. Sighing, he sets the mug down. “I’m okay. Really,” he says, threading as much conviction as he can into his voice. “I was just...thinking about the Killjoys.”

Her gaze immediately softens. “Oh, Poison. Stop beating yourself up for that. It’s better off this way. You guys would have died if you’d kept the Killjoys going.”

He stares at his coffee and wraps both hands around the mug. “Yeah, but...I don’t know, Em, was it the right thing to do? Or was it what the old me worked so hard to get away from?” He gestures at himself, the cropped black hair, the plain green jacket. “I always thought I’d go down fighting,” he says, quieter now.

Emily wraps an arm around him. “You did, Poison. We all did.” Her faction had ended around the time the Killjoys disbanded. Not because of a shitty leader, though, but because too many of them had been ghosted. “I mean, shit, Poison, it’s the fucking apocalypse. I guess we’re lucky to be alive. And we’re together, right? Mad Gear and Missile Kid till the end, yeah?” He smiles at their old team name, remembering simpler times when they were kids and running around in each other’s backyards brandishing cardboard swords.

He leans into her embrace; she rests her head on his, and they sit there in comfortable silence. Just like they always had as kids. His heart warms. “Thanks, Em.”

She responds with an affectionate smile.

“Do you have to go in for work today?” he murmurs. Rebel to grocery store cashier isn’t the most typical of transitions, but they have to make ends meet without inciting the government’s suspicion. Lately, though, there’s been days when the crappy store has to close due to rebel demonstrations. Demonstrations that neither of them are a part of.

She sighs. “Unfortunately.” Reluctantly, she withdraws her arm and drains the coffee before standing up. “Off for another shit day selling shit to jerks.”

Poison laughs. “Sorry, Em. I’ll even cook dinner, if that helps.”

She grabs her jacket off the back of a chair and gives him a sidelong look. “You? Cook? Thanks, I’d rather eat microwaved rocks.” She grins as he whacks her playfully. “Hey, I speak nothing but the truth.” Leaning in for a quick hug, she pulls on her jacket and heads for the door, where she grabs her combat boots. She hasn’t stopped dressing like a rebel, at least.

“Bye!” he calls as she winks and waves, slipping out the door.

He stares at the phone, the scratched red thing almost mocking him from its triumphant perch on the table. He hadn’t mentioned calling Ghoul. Was that wrong of him? God, but it would be so fucking unfair to her if he stayed hung up on Ghoul.

But isn’t that exactly what's happening right now?

Being married to Emily is great. She’s his best friend- she gets him; she always has. It’s not the dramatically romantic love he’d always dreamed of; honestly, the transition from best friends to spouses hasn’t changed their dynamic one bit. There are still the hugs, the late-night talks, the inside jokes. It’s just the whole calling each other “honey” and “sweetheart” part that changed. And the occasional kiss. He loves her, he truly does. She’s his best fucking friend in the whole fucking world and he really does love her.

He doesn’t think about Ghoul. Except he does, and now he can’t erase him from his head. Fuck.

He stands up abruptly, the chair screeching on the wooden floor. Heading for the bedroom, he walks over to the side of the bed, ignoring the tangled sheets. The loose plank is still there, marked with a red X.

Taking a deep breath, he kneels down and pries it open, releasing a cloud of dust. Might as well get ready to leave now, he thinks as he digs out the box. It’s a solid three-hour drive to Zone 6. He rips the box open, leaving an ugly duct-tape scar on the cardboard, and grabs his blessed leather jacket and gun. Beautiful faded blue leather with his logo embroidered on. And, oh, his precious, precious gun. How he’d missed it. He clutches them to his chest, ignoring the dirt, and inhales. Stupid fucking dust is making his eyes water.

He stands up, already shrugging his jacket on, and takes the car keys from the bedside table. Then, on a whim, he stops and surveys himself in the mirror on the closet door. Something he hasn’t done in months.

He looks _okay_ , he supposes, but he’s not the bright-eyed, charisma-oozing character he once was. His hair is really greasy, and he totally regrets not showering. Too late for that now. He misses his old hair, long and red as a fire engine. A distant corner of his brain berates him for dressing up just for Ghoul; he shuts it up with the thought of no, he’s not dressing up, he’s just trying to look presentable.

He’s gotten pretty good at lying to himself, it appears.

Walking to the door, he tries to ignore the butterflies taking up residence in his stomach. Which is, as a matter of fact, no longer flat. He draws his jacket closer around himself and runs a hand through his hair. Now why the fuck doesn’t he own a comb?

He stops at the doorway. Fuck, this isn’t him, self conscious and second guessing every act. He’s Party Poison, for fuck’s sake. Fearless rebel leader. Fearless _former_ rebel leader.

Oh, fuck. He whirls around and runs to the box, snatching his mask out of it and jamming it onto his face. Just for good measure.

Then he struts out the front door, head held high, and climbs in the crappy car like it’s a royal carriage. He starts up the ignition and hits the gas; the car roars down the street with a ferocity that kick-starts his heart into exhilaration, pumping adrenaline all around his veins.

With the wind whipping his hair and his vision half-obscured by his bright yellow mask, he smiles, raising a mental middle finger to the world. He might have a backup can of red hair dye here; he’ll use it once he gets to the diner. It feels so good, so fucking good, knowing he’s going back. Back to the diner; back home. He can hear Ghoul’s laughter brushing his ear, his ghost lounging in the passenger seat beside him. “Hold tight, sunshine,” he whispers, and presses down harder on the pedal.

He’s Party fucking Poison, and he’s back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to expand this into a short multi-chapter fic. Guaranteed happy ending, I promise! 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and let me know if you enjoyed this chapter! And thank you for the kudos and comments so far. 
> 
> So long and goodnight xx


	3. Chapter 3

The car screeches to a halt in front of the Diner, kicking up a storm of sand and dust. Chest heaving, Poison forces himself to take a deep breath as he takes in his surroundings. God, nothing has changed about this place. It’s still the same dilapidated mint green building, with half the neon letters on its roof missing so it spells DIE instead of DINER. There’s still the scruffy white vending machine installed by BL/ind, and damn, is that a _Wanted_ poster with the Killjoys’ faces plastered on the wall?

He bends over and reaches into the compartment under the driver’s seat, feeling around for his can of red dye. _Please let it be there_ , he prays just as his fingers close around cold metal. It’s no coincidence that he’s dressing up as his old self, he thinks, digging the can out and giving it a good shake. Is it to impress Ghoul? Make him nostalgic? Or simply to look like the old him so Ghoul might forgive him- because the old Poison was the real one he’d been in love with?

Spraying a generous amount of dye into his hands, he rubs it into his hair, ignoring the red trickling down his arm. Around him, the desert wasteland is quiet, empty save for the pitiful shrubs speckled across the sandy ground. Having exhausted his supply of dye, he shoves the empty canister back under the seat and checks his reflection in the rearview mirror. Like a loser on a first date.

The sight is strangely comforting- his hair is once again a vibrant shock of fire hydrant red, matching his mask, bright yellow and soothingly familiar. Slinging his gun into his holster, he pushes open the car door and steps out. His footsteps crunch as he walks, for what seems like an infinity, towards the diner door. He’s just reaching for the door handle when there’s a squeal of tires behind him. His heart stops and he whirls around…

...to see Ghoul sitting in the battered Killjoy car, smiling ruefully at him. He momentarily forgets how to breathe. 

“Hey,” he says quietly as Ghoul gets out of the car. He, too, is wearing his old costume- a beaten-up green leather vest above a black shirt with yellow sleeves. He’s added a turtle pin to his vest. Poison finds it endearing. For lack of something to do, he peels off his mask. Tucks it into his jacket pocket. Eyes on Ghoul the whole time.

“Hey, you,” Ghoul says, walking towards him. One step at a time. His expression is still somewhat guarded, and Poison wants to kiss him into oblivion. 

Except he can’t. 

But neither can he wait for Ghoul to take the entire ten steps towards him.

Throwing caution to the wind, he runs towards Ghoul and tackles him in a hug. Their bodies immediately fit together like puzzle pieces, almost as a reflex- his hands on Ghoul’s back, Ghoul’s on his waist. His face buried in Ghoul’s chest. He’s really, really warm. Ghoul leans in and presses his face to Poison’s hair; Poison just kind of melts into him. _This,_ he thinks, his senses overwhelmed with everything Ghoul. _This is home_.

All too soon, though, Ghoul pulls away, gently disentangling them, face flushed. “I missed you,” Poison whispers.

Ghoul smiles- a real smile- and the golden spark that’s haunted Poison’s dreams returns to his hazel eyes. “I missed you too, Pois.”

They step apart a little awkwardly. Poison isn’t going to waste a second of his precious time with Ghoul, though. He opens his mouth and the words just seem to flood out in a torrent. “I’m so sorry, Ghoulie. I know I already said this but it’ll never be enough. Because nothing will ever justify you having to hear the Killjoy breakup over the radio because I was too much of a coward to tell you. Nothing will ever justify you waking up to me telling you I just got married at a fucking wedding you weren’t even fucking _at_ and that I’d made a deal with our enemy for my own safety, right after the Killjoy convention where I told everyone the Fabulous Four would carry on, right after you told me you”- his voice cracks here- “right after you told me you loved me.”

Hot, pathetic tears are pooling in his eyes, but he doesn’t care. Ghoul is standing there, eyes wide, taking in his words. He swallows and continues. “B-Because I was under so much pressure, you know? From all the other rebel factions. To be this fearless leader. But I was so tired of it. And…” He jams his hands in his pockets, unable to meet Ghoul’s eyes. “I was fucking ashamed.” He gestures between the two of them. “Not of you. Of myself. Of my own sexuality. And then I was being given more and more responsibility, more and more factions to care for, to give orders to, and we were losing so many every day, and I just- I just couldn’t take it anymore, you know? So I lashed out in the worst way possible. I didn’t pass on the leadership of the other factions to other leaders who could actually do the job. I didn’t relocate the Fabulous Four, just us, to another, quieter Zone. I didn’t give the leadership to you. Fuck, I-” He takes a deep breath. “I decided to make a deal with fucking Korse. Safety and a future in Battery City in exchange for the end of the Killjoys, the Fabulous Four. I _killed_ everything around me thinking it’d be the way out.”

He lifts his head, finally daring to meet Ghoul’s gaze. “And I could have fucking chosen you, I could have fucking proposed. I-I even had the rings. But then...I was scared. I was scared, because you had Jenny, and what if everything we did meant nothing to you? And...fuck, I can’t believe this, but I had all this internalised homophobia. From being brought up religious, I guess.” He gives a bitter laugh. “Fuck, Ghoulie, I can’t-” The tears are already streaming down his face

Ghoul’s eyes are shiny with tears. “Pois. Fuck, Pois.” His words are muffled as he pulls Poison to his chest again and holds him tight. “Don’t cry,” he murmurs, stroking Poison’s hair even as his own tears soak into his jacket, leaving a wet stain. Poison leans into Ghoul’s embrace, sinking into his warmth and inhaling his familiar scent of cigarettes and sugar. _I love you,_ he thinks, silently trying to communicate the message through his heartbeat, already pumping in sync to Ghoul’s.

He seems to get it. He always does. “Pois, look at me,” he says gently, and so Poison does. He meets that pair of hazel eyes, now honey-gold in the light, that he fell in love with. 

Ghoul brushes the tears from Poison’s cheek with infinite tenderness. Poison shivers. “Listen to me, Pois. You were under so much pressure- of course you cracked. I- I was really mad at you. I hated you for months, you know.” He holds Poison closer. “But then I remembered everything we had, all the memories we shared- and I realised I could never hate you. Yeah, you fucked up, majorly, but you’re sorry.” Ghoul cups his face; Poison’s breath hitches. “And you came back. I heard you on the phone, and I heard you just now. You’re still you. You’re still Party fucking Poison. And I- I forgive you.”

Poison lets out his breath in a whoosh. He doesn’t even try to mask the fresh tears falling down his face and sliding down Ghoul’s hand. “Thank you,” he sobs. “Fuck, fuck, Ghoulie, thank you.” The rest of his words are an inaudible, blubbered mess as the waterworks come and he buries his face in Ghoul’s neck, shoulders shaking. Ghoul rubs soothing circles on his back. “Ever dramatic, aren’t you?” he teases, his mouth only a hair’s breadth away from Poison’s ear.

And despite himself, Poison laughs brokenly. “Yeah. You know me.” He realises he’s been lingering in the hug for too long; reluctantly, he withdraws his hands. His cheeks are on fire and he prays to God that Ghoul doesn’t notice.

“Wanna go inside? I’m boiling out here,” Ghoul says, already heading for the Diner. Poison smiles and follows.

When they reach the dust-caked glass doors, Poison gives Ghoul a sidelong look. “Care to do the honours?”

Ghoul’s smile lights up his face and Poison can’t help but laugh. His aggressive love for action hasn’t changed at all. Reaching into his holster, Ghoul pulls out his neon green gun and fires at the lock. It snaps and crumbles. And, just because he’s a childish fucker, Ghoul steps on it and grinds it under his heel, grinning the whole time. Poison can’t stop fucking smiling. 

Pulling open the doors, releasing a shower of dust, he steps into the Diner, gesturing for Ghoul to follow. The dark interior of the restaurant is exactly as they left it- dingy booths, cracked light bulbs, grimy tabletops. The black-and-white checkered floor that clearly hasn’t seen a broom or mop in years.

Home sweet home.

Poison stands in the doorway for a moment, just taking it all in. Processing the unexpected flood of emotions that came with setting foot in here again. Blinking back tears- _oh fuck no, not again_ \- he turns to Ghoul with a watery smile. “Back booth?”

Judging by Ghoul’s glassy gaze, he isn’t immune to the nostalgia, either. But upon hearing Poison’s voice, he returns his smile with his usual enthusiasm. “Hell yeah.”

He bounds to the back of the room and slides into their old seat while Poison walks to the counter, leaning over it and flicking the light switch. To his surprise, it actually works- the lights flicker on.

“The lights don’t work in my house in the freaking city, and they work in a diner in a fucking ghost zone. Go figure,” Ghoul quips. 

Poison laughs. “Better living at its finest, huh?” He grabs two cans of drinks from the cooler behind the counter- which are still cold, what the fuck?- and slides into the seat opposite Ghoul. He pushes one can at Ghoul. “Here you go. The best expired soft drinks Zone 6 has to offer.”

“Some offer.” Ghoul opens the can with a _pop_ ; brown liquid fizzles over the edge. Taking a sip, he makes a face. “Good God, this stuff is disgusting!”

Poison cracks up and takes a swig from his own can, because why the hell not. He regrets it immediately- it’s sour, burning his tongue and making stars dance across his vision, and not in a good way. He gags and crumples the can in his hand, sending more offensive drink spewing across the table. Ghoul rolls his eyes affectionately. “Dumbass.” He reaches into his jacket and produces two sugar donuts wrapped in plastic bags, grinning when Poison’s eyes bug.

“What the fuck- Ghoulie, do you just carry all this food with you everywhere?” Back when they were Killjoys, Ghoul had always been the one who always managed, without fail, to miraculously produce food. Who knew he still did that?

Ghoul chucks the donut at him and he barely manages to catch it, squishing the dough between his fingers. “Be grateful, pumpkin,” he says, all fake indignance. Poison grins and unwraps the donut, taking an indulgent bite. “I am,” he garbles. He raises his eyebrows in approval. “Whoa, holy shit, this is good.”

Beaming, Ghoul ducks his head a little bashfully, and Poison totally called it- Ghoul definitely baked these himself. “None of those fucking emotion-numbing pills BL/ind tries to stuff in everything,” he says proudly.

Poison involuntarily stiffens at the mention of pills. Ghoul notices and his expression falls. “Oh fuck no. Poison…”

“I didn’t take them today,” he says feebly. “I was going to, but then I heard your letter.”

Ghoul looks like he’s torn between killing Poison and crying. “I’ll write you a million letters if that’s what it takes,” he says softly. “A million reasons for you not to take those pills. It’s gonna be okay, you hear me?”

Poison nods numbly. “Yeah. Yeah, Ghoulie. I’ll be okay. You’re here.” He takes a deep breath and collects himself. The lump in his throat mysteriously dissolves after a few moments of shamelessly gazing into Ghoul’s face.

Propping his head on his hands, Poison smiles at him. “So tell me what happened the past decade we’ve been separated.”

And just like that- it’s like a dam’s been broken and Ghoul talks his ear off, just like he always did, with energetic gestures and animated expressions. They both bitch about their stupid grocery store jobs and how nothing ever happens and Ghoul fills him in on how his boss keeps calling him a goddamn punk and how he keeps trying to get him to act more like a normal salesperson. In turn, Poison rants about the lifeless people he sees, how all his neighbors all act like “good citizens”- mindless _puppets_ , he says- and how it’s near fucking impossible to buy red hair dye, or any hair dye, anywhere in Battery City. At this point, Ghoul points at his hair, and then at his still cherry-red hands. “So I see someone managed to find the dye just for today.”

Poison shrugs, a little embarrassed. “You probably wouldn’t have recognised me if I’d shown up with black hair and normal clothes.”

The sides of Ghoul’s lips tug into a lopsided smile. “Nah, I’d know you anywhere.”

And Poison smiles back, like an idiot, because Ghoul is suddenly gazing at him with a dizzying intensity and his brain is swiftly losing control. Ghoul leans forward and Poison thinks he does too; he’s not exactly sure what’s going on, right now, because Ghoul is still smiling his stupid smile and Poison’s eyes are glued to his lips, while his stomach decides the present moment is a good time to do a roller-coaster style swoop. Does he…is he going to…? Ghoul’s lips are chapped and faded, but they’re smiling, smiling at _Poison_ , and fucking perfect, and- oh, _oh_ , he’s tilting his head upwards, narrowing the distance between them even more. Poison feels himself begin to close that gap, fingers itching to just grab Ghoul’s beautiful face-

So he does. He leans forward, hands hooking around Ghoul’s neck, and presses their lips together. And it’s like- it’s like a fucking silent explosion of fireworks. The kiss is gentle, chaste even, but Poison can feel the sparks flying. It’s like watching the sunrise after a night of blindly trekking up a mountain. Fresh and golden and perfect. Familiar, too, as the memories all come crashing down. Poison smiles against his lips. Ghoul tastes of sunshine and smoke, and so much more. He tastes like happiness. 

He tastes like love.

And oh, even as Poison grabs a fistful of Ghoul’s hair and gently tugs, already halfway to Nirvana, he knows he’s so, so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this chapter delivered some much-needed Poison and Ghoul interaction! Thank you for reading xD
> 
> Happy belated birthday to Bullets!


	4. Chapter 4

The diner doors crash open and they spring apart, startled. Poison’s face is flaming, lips still tingling from the kiss. Stupid, stupid, how could he have been so fucking stupid? But his train of thought is cut off when he recognises the figure standing at the door. Uncharacteristically disheveled black hair twisted into a bun, panicked green eyes, white Grecian sailcloth dress…

“Jenny?” Ghoul croaks. Oh shit. How the fuck are they going to explain that highly compromising position she’d found them in?

But that doesn’t seem to be her primary concern, he realises, as Jenny runs towards their table, sandals slapping on the tiled floor, eyes wild and frenzied. He’s never seen her like this- hell, he’s never actually seen her outside Battery City. His heart drops; whatever this is, it must be bad. 

She skids to a stop in front of them, gripping the side of the table. “Oh my God, Poison, I’m so sorry,” she gasps out. 

“Jenny, what is it?” Ghoul asks urgently.

“It’s...it’s Emily,” she chokes. “She’s...she’s been ghosted.”

 _Ghosted ghosted ghosted._ The words seem to echo in Poison’s mind. His ribcage is suddenly too small for his heart. Ghosted means gone. 

Ghosted means dead. 

Emily?

His Emily?

The world spins. Teeters for one precarious second, on the brink of a gaping chasm. Then it all comes crashing down, down, down on Poison, and he can’t breathe- Emily, Emily, no not Emily, not Emily. It’s like he’s being compressed between two sheets of glass- crushing him, crushing the light, as he’s swept away by a tornado, swirling and sucking him in all too fast. Emily’s disjointed voice calling, calling, calling. Then her laugh, light and happy- and she’s a child again, dancing through the grass singing in time to her wind chimes. Blonde hair messy and brown eyes wide in childish innocence. “Poison!” he hears her call out. “Poison! Come play hide and seek with me!” Little Poison giggles and ducks behind a tree. And then she’s shimmering, fading away into nothing but a mirage. He’s running into the tall grass, heart pounding like a thrush thrashing in a thornbush, wild and panicked, and he screams her name, but no sound comes out of his throat. He screams silently with a bruised sound-box, dead tongue filling up his mouth, a leaden barrier. The words torn, ripped from his throat before they can even be uttered. _Come back. Come back!_ He stumbles through the grass, desperately grasping at air, hoping, praying-

And then the scene changes. They’re teens, sitting in the attic of her old house, and she’s swinging from the rope attached to the ceiling beam, back and forth like a bat, laughing and whooping. He’s doing the same, tough rope biting into his hands. He doesn’t feel the pull of gravity, though. He only sees Emily by the light streaming in through the skylight, chattering away about everything and nothing, about school, about the future, about all the great things she’s going to invent. She catches sight of Poison’s expression then, though, and her face falls. “Poison, what’s wrong?” 

He chokes up, tears spilling down his cheeks. She can’t really see him, not the real him, because this is just a memory. But fifteen-year-old Poison runs and hugs her and opens up his heart to her, telling her about how they picked on him at school, but how he couldn’t do anything. She holds him, murmuring comforting words and swearing vengeance upon everyone with such a fiery passion that he smiles through his tears. Poison can feel the spiral of churning air tug at him, telling him to move on, but he clings on to this golden memory, precious like a four-leaf clover, watching as Emily drops everything just to comfort him. But then, just like an autumn leaf in the wind, the memory is torn from his hand. It whirls away in the gusty winds of time, and he, too, is whisked away. Too late for memory-Emily to hear his silenced, strangled cry.

“Em, I’m leading a Killjoy faction!” The darkness parts, swishing up like stage curtains, revealing the two of them in their early twenties, at one of the rebel stations in the Zones. She beams and tackles him in a fierce hug. Poison’s heartstrings fray as the two of them jump in excitement, still untainted by any of the darkness yet to come. Emily mirroring young Poison’s enthusiasm, spreading his glow like a candle. She’s proudly wearing a leather jacket with pins and badges of her own faction, which Poison eye reverently, and she listens to him babble on about the Fabulous Four, about how Kobra is becoming so confident in himself, how Jet is such a mother hen but an insanely talented fighter, and, for the majority of the time, how Ghoul did this and Ghoul did that and Poison’s heart twists at the happiness in his own face. Emily picks up on it, laughing and teasing him, but straightening his collar and lending him her hairbrush before shooing him back inside to Ghoul. _Emily,_ he sobs, but again the word doesn’t form. _Emily._

He’s vaguely aware of falling to his knees, vaguely aware of the faraway sensation of glass shards spiking pain up his knees. Fuzzy dots of darkness are dancing across his eyes, and oh God, he sees present Emily from this morning in their kitchen, bleary-eyed and smiling, still concerned about Poison, always concerned about Poison. What was the last thing he said to her? Bye? Just bye? Nothing but an abbreviated, absent farewell? He lets loose an anguished cry and this time it sounds, ringing in his ears and reverberating in his head. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have ever let his guard down, how could he have thought they were truly safe? The house is getting cold without them, the kitchen empty with his promise of making dinner for her, never to be kept. Oh God, she’s never going to be in the house again. Never going to sit beside him as they drink coffee in the morning, never going to be there as the sun dips below the horizon and they laugh about everything because around her, everything seems funny and warm and bright. 

Then the darkness reforms itself into a knife and stabs, between his third and fourth ribs, to his heart, a crumbling mess of bloody chemicals. Sending sharp pain shooting up his body. Where was he when she took her last breath? Where was he when she went down fighting? The blade embeds itself deeper, mercilessly twisting, and he gasps at the vivid image that floods his brain. Emily lies, a comatose form, on the sand, head twisted at an unnatural angle, lemon hair slick and matted with blood, bone-white jutting out of her knee above a pool of scarlet. Her head lolling, her chest still. Gone down fighting without him. His vision blurs, and he’s clawing at the air, clawing for her, only for his hands to close around nothing, colours flickering around him, blood red and Emily blonde. His voice is hoarse with screaming, but he cries her name until his throat is raw and red. The darkness is still in him, turbulent and poisonous, burning him inside out with a slicing pain. Where was he when she went down fighting? The kiss flies to the forefront of his memory, tainted black now. Betraying her, betraying them. The tears are dripping off his chin as yet another fresh stream comes, and the darkness coils into a rope, binding his arms behind his back, frozen. He betrayed her when he married her, when he promised love he couldn’t give, just like the meal he would never cook for her now. _Traitor traitor traitor_ , the voices in the dark whisper. He betrayed her when he promised her romantic love, because his heart already belonged to Ghoul. He betrayed her by twisting his own fate and forcing jigsaw pieces into the wrong puzzle. Emily’s face swims above him in an inky pattern, silvery and swirling and just out of his reach. Caramel eyes no longer holding the light he’s always known in her. _Poison,_ she mouths, but he can’t hear her, can’t hear anything above the bubbling cries pounding against his skull. She smiles at him, softly, sadly, and the knife finally reaches his heart, stabbing his throbbing veins, drawing gushing blood, and still he screams and screams and screams, arms still thrusted out and fingers scrabbling for the ghost of Emily.

 _Goodbye, Poison._ Her voice is a thin whisper, barely penetrating the darkness in his mind, and he holds onto it like a lifeline. Grips it tightly the way teenage Poison held on to the swinging rope in her attic. Her syrup-coloured eyes crinkle at the corners, showing wisdom and grief well beyond her years. Finally showing the strain of the darkness buried deep beneath her cheery exterior in life. She smiles at him, her expression delicate and feather-soft. One last time. _I love you._

She raises her hand in farewell, sliding her wedding band off her finger and letting go; it melts into a million pools of silver light. And then she, too, shatters into splinters of light and darkness, and Poison is left howling her name, wracked with sobs. A thousand apologies, a million _I love yous_ he can never say now. A million more days he can never spend with her. He can feel the darkness cloaking him, lifting him now, gentle and delicate like angel wings, as the venom slowly drains out of his crushed heart, warm and dripping down his ribs. The wings are soft black velvet even as they wrench him away from the last flicker of Emily’s starless eyes, carrying him through the infinite night, back up the chasm. Until he finally sees pinpricks of light and tumbles back into reality.

“Pois?” _Ghoul_ , he thinks, and nearly collapses with relief. He feels a hand, blissfully cold, against his feverish forehead, and he opens his eyes. Ghoul’s worried face comes into view. He’s lying on the floor, he realises, the iciness of the marble seeping through his skin as he slowly regains his senses.

“Oh, thank God!” Ghoul’s eyes are red-rimmed; he cradles Poison’s head, stroking his hair. “Are you okay?” His voice cracks. “Y-You were out for almost ten minutes, just hyperventilating and screaming.” His hand moves to dab gently at Poison’s tears. “Oh, darling,” he whispers. 

Someone presses a glass of water to his lips and he looks up to see Jenny’s worried expression. “Drink,” she chides, and Poison almost plunges back into the darkness at the word. _Drink, then talk_ , Emily had said, only this morning. It turned out to be one of the last things she ever said to him.

He obeys, though, draining the glass, and feels slightly better. The water is cool and soothing to his scratched throat. “T-Thank you,” he rasps. Jenny smiles sadly. “What happened?”

“I- I saw her,” he says, his voice unsteady with the threat of tears. “Memories through the years. The dark- i-it was alive, it was carrying me, pulling me away, stabbing me”- he swallows- “And then I saw her face, and she smiled at me, one...one last time before she disappeared.” He ends in a bare whisper. “Sh-She was my best friend.” He sounds like a child then, lost and scared.

“We know, sweetheart,” Ghoul murmurs, gently propping Poison up into a sitting position. Jenny nods assent, patting his knee. “I’ll go get you some more water, okay?”

She stands up and goes behind the counter; Poison hears the gurgle of the tap. Ghoul rubs soothing circles on his back, his warmth enveloping Poison. Angel wings of light, this time. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers. Poison can see the heart-shattering worry behind his eyes. “It’s going to be okay, darling.”

And, wrapped in Ghoul’s soft embrace, Poison believes him. He believes in the light at the end of the tunnel, as Ghoul softly hums a tune and he sees Emily again, smiling at the two of them. He sees her take off her wedding ring again. “She was always looking out for you,” Ghoul says quietly. Pressed against him, Poison can feel his heartbeat, real and solid and alive. “It’s going to be okay,” he repeats, with more certainty.

Then they hear the gunshots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks up from computer at 2 am* Well hello there. I can't believe I'm updating so soon- this chapter was really emotionally draining to write! Thank you for reading, and let me know what you thought of this chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

There’s a crash as a laser blast shatters the window. It burns a smoking hole in the back wall behind the counter. “Jenny!” Ghoul screams.

“I’m fine!” she calls from behind the counter, and both Ghoul and Poison slump with relief. “Get down!” Pots and pans clang as Jenny presumably armours up with cookware.

Poison drags Ghoul under the table, heart pounding in his ears. Out of instinct, he unstraps his ray gun and shifts it to his right hand. Ghoul does the same, poking first the barrel of his gun out from the shelter of the table and then his head to catch a glimpse of what they’re dealing with. He ducks back in next to Poison. “Dracs,” he whispers. “Gunfight with a Killjoy faction. Five to three.”

Adrenaline courses through Poison’s veins at the mere word _Dracs_ ; he tightens his grip around the gun. Ghoul’s face is really, _really_ fucking close to his in the cramped space and Poison reddens at the memory of the kiss. Thank God for shit lighting and the darkness the cover of the table provides. Ghoul seems to be thinking the same thing, too, hazel eyes glimmering dark green and cheeks tinted pink. They both look down.

Another blast whistles through the window, sending a shower of glass into the diner. Poison looks at Ghoul. “We don’t have much time left.”

Ghoul murmurs assent. “Two minutes, tops. What’s the plan?”

Poison’s chest constricts, and shit, he really shouldn’t have missed hearing Ghoul asking that simple question so much. “I’ll head out. You stay here and protect Jenny.”

Ghoul’s brow furrows, just as he knew it would. “Fuck no, I’m with you, Pois. I’m not letting you go out there alone.” He hesitates, clearly worried about Jenny. “Okay, fine, you go out, I’ll hide her, and then I’ll join you.”

Poison smirks, feeling more and more his old self by the minute. “Not if I take them all down first.”

Ghoul rolls his eyes good-naturedly as Poison crawls over him to get out from under the table. He pointedly ignores the fiery butterflies igniting his nervous system. “Give ‘em hell, kid,” Ghoul quips with a wink, and Poison nearly stumbles. Cursing himself, he sprints for the door, gun aimed ahead.

He bursts through the doors, secretly enjoying the shocked snap of heads as he does. Five Dracs, three Killjoys, just as Ghoul’d said. With an ease he’d almost forgotten, he shoots the nearest Drac with his ray gun, sending him sprawling to the ground. The shot is in their leg; they’ll live. Deftly dodging the blasts of the other four, he skids behind his car, now sporting an impressive amount of dents and burns. 

A Drac immediately advances on him and they grapple, the Drac throwing his entire weight into his punches and Poison swiftly swinging around and dealing kicks of his own. It’s mindless, the whole process- he’s moving like a well-oiled cyborg, trained to be deadly. His body remembers this, he thinks with barely concealed delight. He can still do this.

“You okay?” he calls to the other Killjoys, each struggling with their own Drac. A young recruit with magenta hair grins at him before slamming her Drac into the outside wall of the Diner in a chokehold. “Yeah, thanks! Party fucking Poison, damn!” she adds under her breath, seemingly in awe.

Poison feels a burst of warmth in his chest as he conks his gun on the Drac’s head, hard, and then shoots him in the shin. They crumple to the floor, pressed white pants of their suit burnt and charred. _I did that,_ Poison thinks. But just as he’s basking in his little victory, a hand snakes around his throat. Fingernails dig into his skin. _Shit._ He hadn’t heard them sneaking up on him. And if a Drac is free…he thrashes in the Drac’s grip, grabbing and twisting their arm, and risks a glance at the other Killjoys. Magenta Hair is finishing off her Drac, but another in a black mask is struggling. The third is lying on the ground, motionless.

Snarling, he whips around and rips himself free from the Drac’s grasp. Channels all his strength into it. Mangles their arm in a distorted ballroom underarm turn. God, this Drac is a giant. They respond with a punch to his gut and Poison staggers back, momentarily winded. _Fuck._ He rebounds with a flying kick to the Drac’s ribs. There’s a crack and red seeps into the pristine white of their clothes. Growling, they clutch their chest and lunge for Poison, shoving him against the hot metal of his car. The glass of the windshield crunches under him. His breath catches in his throat as they raise their machine ray gun. Their knee is strategically placed, pinning down the inside of his right elbow. Rendering his right hand, and the gun in it, useless.

He tries wrenching his left hand free and fails. It’s well and truly trapped under the Drac’s tree trunk of an arm. His heartbeat speeds up and panic coils in his stomach. Oh fuck no, he can’t be going down now. He aims a kick at their shin; they barely notice the pain. _Fuck fuck fuck._ They leer at him, a pull-back of lips to show yellowing teeth, and press the barrel of the gun to his throat. Their fingers curl around the trigger and Poison cries out- 

“Cheerio, losers!” A figure launches itself at the Drac, sending them tumbling to the ground. The gun soars into the air and Poison scrambles to catch it. Ghoul, thank fuck! He grins up at Poison from where he's making short work of the Drac with ferocious punches. “You--back--the--fuck--off,” he pants, pumelling them all over. The Drac’s nose is already bleeding.

Poison knows what’s next. Sure enough, once the Drac is injured enough to suit him, Ghoul closes one eye and shoots. Fucking perfect aim.

Poison slides off the hood of the car. “Thanks,” he breathes. “You saved my life, Ghoulie.” Ghoul dusts himself off. “Won’t be the first time.”

He meets Poison’s gaze and smiles. “Seriously, though, I’m glad you’re all right.”

Poison returns the smile, resisting the urge to grab Ghoul’s hand. “You big sap.”

“A little help, you two?” Magenta Hair calls from the Diner door, where she’s tending to the wounded Killjoy while the one in the black mask takes down the last Drac. Black Mask isn’t going to last; his steps are already lagging, a beat too slow. They both blush and run towards them, combat boots pounding the ground in a synchronized rhythm.

Someone else beats them to it, though.

Jenny springs out from the side of the diner, brandishing two frying pans. Without skipping a beat, she slams them both on the Drac’s head. The gobsmacked Killjoys watch as the frying pans turn into weapons as Jenny fights and then morphs into a shield when the punches come flying her way. Poison can’t believe the fluid way she’s moving, dress flying as she dodges each attack, spinning the two chunks of metal all the while as though they’re extensions of her arms. She sidesteps a kick gracefully, narrowly avoiding being rammed into the wall, and jabs the pan forward like it’s a fucking sword. Poison has to give her credit, though, because that stunt _actually_ _works_. The Drac pulls out their gun, and Poison, already alert, starts to jump forward, but to his surprise, Ghoul throws an arm out across his chest, holding him back. “No,” he says. “Watch.”

There’s a smile tugging at Ghoul’s lips as he watches Jenny. A mixture of pride and fascination. It’s a while before Poison recognises the feeling stirring in his chest. He internally orders the butterflies in his stomach to kill the snake that’s now twisting around his ribs. Goddammit, he can’t be jealous. He can’t be fucking jealous of _Jenny_ ! Sweet, caring Jenny who’s his _friend_ that just so happens to be married to Ghoul. 

_And whose fault is it that he’s not married to you?_

Poison turns his attention back to the fight. Jenny bangs one of her frying pans into the barrel of the Drac’s gun, stepping forward and neatly hooking her leg around the back of their knee. In one slicing movement, she sweeps the Drac off their feet- literally- and twists the pan so it comes up holding the gun just as the Drac hits the floor with a _thud_.

Pulling the gun out of the pan, she aims at the Drac’s chest and shoots. She doesn’t even blink. Poison’s impressed. 

And, judging by the shocked silence after the shot rings, so is everyone else. Then Magenta Hair lets out a whoop. “Damn!”

Everyone laughs. The relief is apparent in the air. Ghoul rushes over to Jenny and pulls her into a hug, eyes wide. “Jen, that was amazing!”

She laughs and Poison summons a mental fly swatter to kill the stupid fucking buzz of jealousy that arises yet again. Then Ghoul lets go of her and Poison’s head clears. Jenny, his _friend_. He joins Ghoul at Jenny’s side and hugs her too. “That was one hell of a fight,” he says, relieved at how he means the compliment. She beams.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Magenta Hair helping up the two other Killjoys. “Hey, um, Party Poison?” she says, suddenly sounding a little shy. “Fun Ghoul?” Both of them smile at her and she visibly relaxes. “I just wanted to say it’s an honour to meet you guys. And you too, Jen.”

Poison grins and sticks out his hand. “Nice to meet you too. What’s your name?” 

“Revenge,” she replies, moving on to shake Ghoul and Jenny’s hands. She loosens the red tie around her throat. It’s an interesting fashion choice- a tie around a sleeveless black top. Poison likes it. 

She introduces the two other Killjoys. Black Mask, whose name is Bullets, is basically still a kid with greasy black hair and a crumpled graphic tee that looks like he slept in it. The other Killjoy, the one who’d been knocked out by the giant Drac, has bleached white hair, a chunky black-and-silver leather jacket and goes by the name Parade. They both look kind of bashful and Poison just smiles and thinks, holy shit. They’re still famous around here- who would’ve guessed?

Jenny sets her frying pans down on the ground, rubbing her arms. Poison knows the feeling; it took him a while to get used to the weight of his gun back when he first became a Killjoy. Those pans must’ve weighed a ton.

“Are you a Killjoy too, Jen?” Revenge asks.

Jenny laughs, surprised. “Oh, no, I’ve never fought in my life before. This is my first time out of Battery City, actually.”

Revenge raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “Whoa. That was some real fucking skill there with the frying pans.” She shakes her head, grinning. “All that while wearing a Greek goddess type dress? You have my respect for life, non-refundable.” 

Jenny blushes and beams. Poison likes this Revenge midget. She twists her skull ring around her finger. “Anyway. Bullets and Parade and me, we just started this faction about a month ago- we’re called Bulletproof Hearts- and uh, we were just wondering, if you...would like to join us?” Her last words come out as a squeak. Poison almost laughs at how quickly she goes from sassy to nervous. 

Jenny stares at her, open-mouthed. “Y-You mean it?” she stammers, casting a look at Ghoul. He gives her an encouraging smile. “Do you want to?” he asks quietly. Revenge and the other Killjoys turn away to give them privacy.

She thinks for a moment, then nods firmly. “Yeah,” she exhales. “Yeah, I want this.” She looks at Ghoul, then at Poison beside him, something indiscernible flickering behind her emerald eyes. “Are you okay with it?”

Ghoul smiles sadly. “I’m not gonna ask you to come back home. Now that you’re out here, how could you ever wanna go back? Just know that- that you’re my best friend and I support you no matter what.”

Jenny sniffs and hugs him. “Thanks,” she whispers into his hair. Standing beside them, Poison feels a little awkward, until Jenny hugs him, too. She smells like honeycream, like she always has. It’s a funny thought, little house mouse Jenny becoming a fighter.

But it’s right for her, he realises, as she turns to the other Killjoys to tell them she’s in. She’s been holed up in Battery City so long, she doesn’t have the experiences Poison and Ghoul have; she doesn’t have crazy shit to tell her grandkids like they do. Jenny faces Poison and Ghoul again. “So it’s like a new chapter of my life, I guess,” she says, smiling even through the tell-tale glimmer of tears in her eyes. “When my life flashes in front of my eyes before I die, I’ll know it was worth living.” She takes Ghoul’s hands. “Thanks for sticking around in this chapter.”

Poison swallows the lump in his throat; Ghoul, too, is holding back tears. “This isn’t goodbye,” he says. “You’ll still come visit. We’ll still see each other.”

Jenny smiles. “Yeah. Yeah we will.” Poison’s breath audibly hitches as she slides her wedding ring off her finger. Beside him, Ghoul freezes. Poison’s mind flashes back to his vision of Emily, delicate and sad and smiling at him. He remembers how she took off her ring and let it splinter into light.

Jenny looks between them and breathes out a short laugh. Then, slowly, gently, she sets the ring on the ground between them. She gives Ghoul a look, and that look seems to communicate everything. 

He does the same.

The two rings overlap on the sandy ground, silver gleaming in the sunlight. The atmosphere has a sort of solemn air to it now, akin to a ceremony. “We’ll meet again,” she says softly. “We’ll meet again when both our cars collide.”

A single tear slips down Ghoul’s face; as if they’re mirror reflections, a second slips down Jenny’s. “I love you,” he says. “You’re my best fucking friend and I would fucking die for you, and don’t you dare forget it.”

She laughs. “I love you too.” 

“When both our cars collide, yeah?” The rings seem to be opening up a gap between them now, some sort of border. Poison and Ghoul on one side, Jenny on the other.

“Three cheers to that,” she says. And then she walks off across the sandy ground to Revenge, to Bullets, to Parade. 

To a new beginning.

Poison watches as the four of them pile into the Killjoys’ car. Watches as the engine revs and they tear down the road, turning briefly to wave at them. The two of them wave back. He knows Ghoul doesn’t take his eyes off the car until it fades into a little orange dot against the horizon and finally winks out of sight.

He grabs Poison’s hand and squeezes, and for once, Poison doesn’t quash the fluttery feeling.

He squeezes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An offering: here's an update! Sorry for the cliffhanger last time xD I've actually really enjoyed writing this so far- I definitely didn't think I'd make a multi-chapter fic out of this when I first wrote that one-shot, but here we are. Thanks for sticking with me so far and comment your ending predictions! :)


	6. Chapter 6

Poison and Ghoul had their first kiss in March. March 22nd, 2016. Poison’s never going to forget the fireworks exploding in his heart that moment, never going to forget that day. It’s forever ingrained in his memory.

It’s March 22nd again. Funny how some things go full circle. 

Now, squashed into Ghoul’s shitty car and hurtling across the desert at ninety miles per hour, Poison can’t help but smile. The speed doesn’t faze him; he’s used to Ghoul’s crazy antics. The car’s no Trans Am, no graffitied Killjoy car, just a beaten up green turtle of a car, but truth be told, he doesn’t really care. The fact that it’s small enough that their arms are brushing is just a bonus to the sparks skittering up Poison’s nerves.

“Where are we going?” he asks, drumming his fingers on the dashboard and watching the speedometer crank up. Back when they were in the Fabulous Four, they’d rarely let Ghoul drive.

Ghoul shrugs. “Anywhere. Drive around, pick up supplies, back to the diner, anything. Where do you wanna go, Pois?”

Poison gives him a sidelong look and finally addresses the unspoken question hanging in the air. “We’re not going back to Battery City, are we?” 

There’s a deliberate pause. “Do you...want to?” The reply is a little too guarded, a little too careful. It throws Poison off. He twists in his seat to glare at Ghoul. “Ghoulie, damn you, be honest! It’s me, idiot!”

The corners of Ghoul’s lips twitch. He keeps his eyes on the road- or lack thereof. “Okay, fine. No. There’s nothing left for me there.”

Poison grins. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Absentmindedly, he runs a hand through his hair. Hearing the question Ghoul doesn’t actually ask.

“Yeah. Me too. I don’t wanna go back either,” he admits. He thinks of the hulking gray buildings, the expressionless people, the colourless landscape trimmed into conformity like a garden bush, and shudders. “It was never really home.”

Ghoul nods in assent. “Safety was nice for a while, I guess.” He steals a cautious glance at Poison. “But we can’t really trust Korse, can we?”

_ Not after Emily.  _ Poison swallows and Ghoul immediately looks apologetic. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

Poison shakes his head and places his hand on top of Ghoul’s on the joystick, effectively shutting him up. “It’s not you,” he says quietly. “It’s all Korse’s fault. Korse and him alone.” He takes a deep breath. “And Emily”- his throat closes up at the name- “I- I’m gonna need time to process that.” He almost sees her again, shimmering against the cornflower blue sky. He thinks of her body, bloodied and cold now and no doubt already shoved into a BL/ind body bag. They’ll light a furnace, a gaping grey mouth that’ll swallow her whole. Ashes to ashes.

At least he didn’t find out by returning to an empty house. At least someone heard the news- Dr Death Defying, he’s certain- and broadcast it so Jenny could tell him.

“At least I got to say goodbye, even if it was in a vision,” he says, even softer now.

He squeezes Ghoul’s hand once, twice. Their signal.  _ I don’t wanna talk about it right now.  _ It used to also mean  _ fend off the others for me. _

“You’re gonna make me crash the car,” Ghoul murmurs, readjusting the joystick.

“Into a cactus? We’re literally in the middle of a desert here, Ghoulie. I’d be pretty impressed if you actually managed to crash into anything,” Poison teases.

Ghoul huffs indignantly and Poison laughs, grateful to move on to a lighter subject. “We could’ve taken your car, but no, you let me drive, so any suffering on your part is wholly your fault.” Ghoul grins at him, wide and stupid, and something unfurls in the pit of Poison’s stomach.

“Only because you’re so attached to this car!” Poison protests. “I was being nice!”

Ghoul smirks. “Your car is a glorified metal can and we both know it.”

“Hey, don’t be mean to it!” Poison’s half tempted to knock his hand off the joystick altogether, but decides against it in the name of self-preservation. Empty wasteland or not, Poison doesn’t doubt Ghoul’s uncanny ability to crash and burn anything and everything.

“And I’m not the one who named my car Snippy,” he adds as a petty afterthought, amused at how Ghoul scrunches up his face in response. “Oh, come on! I told you that out of trust. Don’t you go blowing up my own secrets in my face.”

Poison snorts. “Well, there go my nefarious plans.”

“Nefarious? What the hell are you, a fucking pirate?” Ghoul grabs the steering wheel with both hands and gives it a sharp twist to the right, sending Poison slamming into him as the car veers with an unholy, nails-on-chalkboard screech of tires.

“Fuck!” Poison hastily detaches himself from Ghoul, rubbing at his shoulder where they’d collided. “Good God, you are the  _ worst _ fucking driver-”

He’s cut off as Ghoul sends the car careening in another sudden unnecessary turn. Poison lets out an undignified squeak as they barely miss a cactus, its prickles practically grazing the car door. Ghoul turns to him with a mischievous grin, hazel eyes glimmering green. “You were saying?”

It’s all Poison can do not to punch him in the fucking face. Or kiss him. God, he has to stop.

“Oh, go to hell,” he mutters halfheartedly. 

“Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt,” Ghoul deadpans before doubling over with laughter, head hitting the steering wheel. A faint alarm goes off in Poison’s head that they’re still going at ninety. Whatever, it’s all fucking desert anyway. And they technically didn’t crash into that cactus. He decides to focus on Ghoul’s laugh, high and bubbling with energy.

“You’re an idiot,” he says affectionately, reaching out a hand to mess with Ghoul’s hair. And maybe his desperate mind is just conjuring images, maybe he’s just imagining things, but he thinks he sees Ghoul lean into the touch. Like a cat. He twists and grins up at Poison. “I know.”

His hair’s grown really long since Poison last saw him. It half obscurs his face now. “Okay, priorities.” He ruffles Ghoul’s tangled black mop one last time before retracting his hand. “You got any more food?”

Ghoul rolls his eyes, smiling, and steps on the pedal even harder. “Yeah, I’ve got a couple cans in the trunk. Geez, where would you be without me?”

“Hell, probably,” he answers automatically. “Or a purgatory. Yeah, that’s worse.”

Poison doesn’t realise the full meaning of the words until they’re out of his mouth. Too late to snatch them back now- they’re raindrops having already nosedived off a cloud. He sneaks a cautious glance at Ghoul. His face is flushed, his eyes fixed pointedly ahead. There’s a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

“I won’t. Don’t think I’ll be popping over anytime soon,” Poison says, feeling his face heat up for no reason at all, goddammit. “I’ll stick with you and your awful driving.”

“Yeah? Is that a promise?”

“If you want it to be.” Poison props his elbow against the side of the car and rests his head on top, feeling the breeze ruffle his hair. He can’t remember the last time he saw this much open space, this much sky. “Not sure if saying yes is that good an option though, you’d be saddled with me for eternity.”

Ghoul snorts. “That much is obvious. But I’m not heartless enough to let you die alone.”

“Hey, what makes you think I’d die without you?” Poison knows he’s coming across as a smidge defensive, but he’s genuinely curious. Seriously, does Ghoul think that lowly of him?

Ghoul raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t bother beating around the bush; he goes all in and yanks Poison right out of the foliage. “I hate to bring it up, but the deal with Korse. Settling down in Bat City. Living an empty life you hate. Need I continue?” He doesn’t say  _ taking the pills.  _ He doesn’t have to.

Poison inhales. Then exhales. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, you win,” he says, a little too shakily for his own liking. “You know I’m sorry, right? Y-Yeah, yeah you do, I told you like a million times on the phone, but just in case that wasn’t like, completely and utterly clear, I-”

He’s cut off by Ghoul laying a hand on top of his. Poison tenses and glances down surreptitiously. There’s a reassuring warmth in Ghoul’s voice when he speaks. “Hey. I forgive you.”

Poison lets out a breath. “Thanks. Thanks, Ghoulie.”

Ghoul turns to smile at him. “Now don’t go all nervous and stutter-y on me, okay? It’s me, idiot,” he says, echoing Poison’s words earlier. Poison grins at that.

And because Ghoul is some sort of mind-reader, he moves onto happier subjects, like the animals he’s been secretly keeping in his backyard. Poison pokes fun at him for all the bizarre nicknames he’s given them, but it’s loveable, really. 

_ ♡ _

“Pass me the lighter, lazy bones.”

Four hours later, they’re curled up in some god-forsaken stretch of desert in Zone 4 in front of a fire as they attempt to boil the canned goods scavenged from Ghoul’s car. Well, to be exact, Poison’s curled up on a log in front of the fire while Ghoul cooks. He picks up the lighter from its seat of honour beside him and hands it to Ghoul. 

The soup’s turning out pretty well, actually, bubbling merrily in the wrought-iron cauldron that Ghoul somehow managed to produce from the depths of his car. It’s white and creamy, with little chunks of potato bobbing on the surface. It smells heavenly. Poison eyes it hungrily.

There’s a  _ snick  _ as Ghoul re-kindles the fire. “I see you staring, you know.”

Poison laughs. “You make it sound like I was staring at  _ you _ or something.”

“Weren’t you?” Ghoul challenges, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

And oh, wow, he did not realise Ghoul still possessed that uncanny ability to make him shut up with a mere two words.

“Sounds like you were hoping I was,” he says, in a valiant attempt to save the remnants of his dignity. His red face is probably giving him away, though.

Ghoul snickers and scoots onto the log beside him, totally invading Poison’s personal space bubble. He dumps the lighter on the ground and pulls out a bowl and a ladle from his backpack. 

“First the donuts, then the soup, now crockery? You’re like a genie,” Poison jokes as Ghoul starts spooning the soup into the bowl.

“Damn straight I am,” he says. “So, what are your three wishes?”

“That soup,” he says immediately, making grabby hands for the bowl. Ghoul laughs and gives it to him; he takes a long, indulgent sip, ignoring the way it scalds his tongue, because goddamn, Ghoul can make a good soup.

He only looks up after a lot of noisy slurping, suddenly self aware. Ghoul’s just sitting there, smiling bemusedly at him. “Why aren’t you drinking?”

Ghoul scratches the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish. “Well, uh, I’ve only got one bowl, so…”

Poison sets it down on his lap abruptly, sending soup sloshing over the edges. “Ghoul!”

He shrugs. “I’ll drink from the pot, I guess. No biggie. I’ve got the ladle.”

“We could...uh, share?” Poison squeaks. His voice’s gone embarrassingly high.

Ghoul laughs at the look on his face. “Wow, did it really pain you that much to say?”

Poison flushes. “What? No! I was just-” 

Ghoul saves him from his spluttering by taking the bowl. “What did I say about going all nervous on me?” He takes a sip. “Oh, damn, that’s not half bad.”

“Complimenting yourself aside, you could actually restart the diner. Like, for real,” Poison says. “You can do all the cooking shit and I can like, I dunno, clean the place up or something.”

“Okay, first off, if you like my cooking so much, don’t call it shit,” Ghoul says with an annoying grin that’s just a little bit bashful. He’s fucking flattered and Poison knows it. 

“What’s the second thing?”

Ghoul nods approvingly. “Someone’s been paying attention.  _ Secondly _ , I think there’s a better use for you than cleaning, don’t you?”

Poison hums in response. “What do you have in mind, then?”

“Oh, I don’t know. What about covering the entire diner in your zombie murals to freak everyone the fuck out?” 

Poison chuckles. “Wouldn’t that be bad for business, though?”

“Nah. Who doesn’t love a good zombie?” Ghoul looks angelic in the firelight, the sparks casting a dappled glow on his face and bringing out the gold in his laughter-lit eyes.  _ I could kiss you,  _ Poison thinks.

But they haven’t exactly talked about what happened the last time he did that.

He changes the subject. “Anyway. Gimme the soup- I see you hoarding it.” Ghoul smirks and hands him the bowl. “Hey, I was the one who made it. I get distribution rights and all that crap.”

A corner of Poison’s mouth quirks. “Fuck off, it’s literally soup.”

Ghoul gasps. “How dare you turn your nose up at my renowned dish?”

The giggles burst out of Poison before he can help it. “Oh my god, Ghoulie, it’s fucking expired-- canned-- potatoes,” he wheezes, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Talk like that again and I’ll stop cooking for you,” Ghoul says haughtily, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. 

“Talk like that and I won’t draw you zombies.”

Ghoul snatches the bowl back out of Poison’s hands. “Hey, that was a low blow! Don’t fucking bring the zombies into this!”

Poison laughs. “Wow, are we parents now?”

Ghoul raises an eyebrow and Poison blanches as he replays his own words. Shit, did he really go from thinking about kissing him to thinking about having kids with him in two seconds? This velocity at which this hopeless spiral is escalating is way too fast for his liking.

He nearly collapses with relief when Ghoul grins and gulps down the rest of the soup, ignoring Poison’s squeak of protest. “Yeah, you, the sore loser, me, the amazing genie, and our zombie babies,” he says with a snort. “Therapists love us.”

He tilts his head. “On the note of me being a genie, what’s your second wish?”

Poison almost blurts  _ kiss me. Kiss me and tell me you love me.  _ But he can’t very well do that, can he? Jenny and Ghoul may be separated, but that doesn’t mean Ghoul doesn’t still love her. And Emily…she’d taken off her wedding band, almost as if she knew. Telling him goodbye and giving him the silent confirmation she knew he’d need. Fuck, she’d been much too good for him. He doesn’t deserve this, sitting and laughing in front of the fire while she was just a ghost. Digging his nails into his palms, he holds back the tears. He hadn’t deserved Emily. 

And he doesn’t deserve Ghoul.

“Pois?” Ghoul says softly, lifting him out of his trance. “Pois, what’s wrong?”

Poison turns to look at him and sees concern in his eyes. He wishes he could cup his face and stroke his cheek and kiss away the worry. 

He does none of these things.

“Emily,” Ghoul whispers, understanding dawning as gentle sadness seeps into the light behind his eyes, clouding it like a veil. Wordlessly, Poison nods. The catch in his voice when he finally speaks is not unexpected. “I let her down.”

“Did you pull the trigger?”

Poison looks up, surprised at the bluntness of the question. “Huh? No.”

“If you hadn’t gone to the diner, would she have been safe?” 

No. She would have been at work, and he would have been at home. He can’t bring himself to form the words, though. He can’t bring himself to brush off the blame so easily.

“I know.” He doesn’t even have to say it, because Ghoul is a fucking telepath, or at least with him. He slips an arm around Poison's waist and nudges the bowl of soup at him with his free hand. “Drink.” Poison obeys.

“Emily was a wonderful person,” Ghoul murmurs. Poison bows his head and stares into the fire, watching the flames spark and fade. “She was a beautiful spirit, the most rebellious of rebels in a Killjoy faction proud to have her as their leader. She was a noble fighter, a gracious leader, but most importantly”- his voice clicks, thick with emotion- “she was the best friend us Killjoys could have asked for, especially for you, Pois, and we were all lucky to have known her.”

Poison lets out a broken sob. “Fuck. Fuck, Ghoulie, you- you’re-” Here Ghoul is, giving Emily a beautiful eulogy, honouring her memory as a fallen friend, while he was jealous at the mere sight of Ghoul and Jenny together. How could Emily, how could Ghoul have ever loved someone like him? How can Ghoul still care about him?

“Thank you,” he whispers, and hopes it’s enough. 

Ghoul shrugs off his jacket and drapes it across Poison’s shoulders. “Anytime.”

“And I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Given everything, you’re gonna have to be more specific,” Ghoul jokes.

Poison elbows him in the ribs, a laugh bubbling despite his tears. “Come on, I was being all sweet and shit! But yeah. I meant about the pills.”

Pressed against him, Ghoul stiffens. “It was a mistake, I know,” Poison continues. “And I- I shouldn’t have, but I’d fucked up so many times, why not just add another thing to the list? Em knew, I think. I avoided her every time.”

“Why?” Ghoul asks softly. “Why’d you take them? Because it was too easy? Because you were unhappy?”

“Because I wanted to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Leaving you.”

Ghoul inhales sharply. Poison barrels on. “I just- I just didn’t know what love meant, you know?”   


“In what way?”

“I thought love was love. I didn’t know there was a difference between loving your best friend and loving someone who was something more. Or maybe I did. Maybe I just wanted to twist fate, just wanted to force my own ending because I couldn’t face my actual feelings.” And here he is, putting it all out again- the  _ I love you _ said much too late presented to Ghoul on a silver platter.

Ghoul nods, eyes suddenly glossed over and unreadable. “Yeah. Twisting fate- that’s kind of a funny concept. Do you believe in fate?”

“No. No, actually.”

“So how can you twist fate when you don’t even believe in it?” A teasing edge has crept onto Ghoul’s voice, much to Poison’s relief.

“I think that’s the point, really. I do all this shit for a cause I don’t even believe in, and I twist and twist and twist my way out of a tunnel into the cave I never even fucking intended to end up in.”

Ghoul hums. “That makes a surprising amount of sense.” His jacket around Poison’s shoulders smells like soft leather, soap and smoke, and suddenly, the memory of the kiss, only this morning, lingers in the admittedly limited space still between them.

“Ghoulie?”

“Yeah?”

“Is that second wish still up for grabs? Even if it’s a kind of shitty thing to ask?”

Ghoul’s face breaks into a smile. “What do you want?”

He takes a deep breath. He’s going to shoot his shot now, nestled beside him in front of the dying embers of the fire. It’s now or never. “Can I-”- fuck, his voice’s gone all dry- “can you, uh... kiss me?” His heart is its own version of a marching band, all thundering drums and cymbals.

For one heart-stopping second, Ghoul stills, eyes wide in shock. Then the colour rushes back to his cheeks. Fire-hydrant red. A corner of his mouth quirks up. Leaning forward, slowly, oh-so-slowly, he cups Poison’s face with an impossible gentleness.

He obliges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well aware that this chapter is long-overdue- sorry for the late update! And if you're still reading, thank you so much for sticking with this story xD


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this!! I can't believe you've actually stuck with me for so long. You're absolutely amazing and I hope you have a great day xx (sorry for going all hallmark on you.) Here's a very late chapter!

It seems like centuries before they finally break apart, mostly out of a dire need for oxygen. Stars are spinning in front of Poison’s eyes. “Whoa,” he breathes, staring at Ghoul dumbly. He looks beautiful under the starlight, eyes glimmering a crystalline shade of green and lips slightly parted, lip ring glittering silver. And Poison’s suddenly struck with the realisation that he’s the one that made Ghoul look like this, pink and flushed and absolutely gorgeous.

“Yeah. Whoa,” Ghoul echoes with a breathless laugh. Poison reaches for his hand and lays it gently on top, feeling electricity thrum through his veins. “That was… that was okay, right?”

Ghoul looks at him incredulously. “Okay? Just okay? Pois, that was amazing!” He stops himself and blushes even deeper. Poison’s certain his face is even redder. “Like magic. Fireworks,” he says softly, unable to resist the smile tugging at his lips. The very thing he’d said about them, all those years ago.

Something cracks in Ghoul’s expression. “Oh, Pois,” he whispers, eyes soft and starry like melted glass.

“I meant it, this morning,” Poison says, rushing the words out before he loses the courage. “I love you.”

Ghoul smirks, but the hazy happy look is still in his eyes. “I know,” he says. Then he grins at Poison’s tortured expression and leans down to peck him on the lips. “I love you too, you dork.”

Poison’s cheeks hurt from the smiling, something he’s grown unused to, but he’s not complaining. He’s not complaining at all.

He reaches out and brushes a tear from the corner of Ghoul’s eye before it can fall. “Oh, Ghoulie, don’t cry.”

“Sorry. Sorry, I-” Ghoul takes a shaky breath, lips trembling through his smile. “I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

Poison tucks the little black swoop of hair on Ghoul’s forehead behind his ear. “And I thought I was the pathetic pining one.” 

They both laugh softly.

“Can we do this?” Poison asks, hand trailing down to stroke Ghoul’s cheek. How the fuck does the fucker have such soft skin? 

Again, he’s not complaining.

“Do what?” Ghoul leans closer, obviously enjoying the flush that blooms across Poison’s face when he does so. 

“Us.” Poison gestures between the two of them with his free hand. “Us, together. For real.”

He hadn’t thought Ghoul’s smile could get any wider, but it does. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah,” he repeats, louder. “Fuck yeah.” He gives Poison a sidelong look. “Ask again. Officially.”

Poison laughs, tilts his chin up and kisses him again, sweet and slow, before gently pulling away. “Will you, Fun Ghoul, do me the honour of being my boyfriend?”

Ghoul looks ready to burst with happiness. “Is that a fucking proposal?”

The same words he’d said to Poison that very morning on the phone, desolate and hopeless. 

“Oh my god,” Poison straight-up fucking  _ giggles _ , like the teenage mess that Ghoul’s reduced him to. Hazy on a high. “Yeah, it’s a fucking proposal,” he says back, relishing the changed meaning of the words. He’s no longer saying  _ we can never be together.  _

He’s saying  _ I love you so fucking much and let’s be together forever. _

Ghoul grins and snuggles into his side; Poison wraps an arm around him. It’s almost a reflex, he realises in surprise. He hadn’t realised just how much they’d cuddled when they were dating-but-also-not.

They both stare into the fire, watching the last dying embers spark and fade.

“We should have brought marshmallows,” Ghoul bemoans sleepily. Poison chuckles. “We finally get all romantic and that’s your first thought?”

“Hey, toasted marshmallows are pretty damn romantic,” he protests, entwining his fingers with Poison’s. He runs his thumb across Ghoul’s tattoos, across all the beautiful pieces of art inking his skin.  _ Hopeless romantic,  _ two of them on his hands piece together to say. It’s quite fitting, he thinks.

“Get your own tattoos to moon over,” Ghoul grumbles playfully, but he’s soaking up the attention, the fucker.

“Nah. I like them on you better.”

Ghoul raises an eyebrow. “Were you always this sappy?”

Poison scrunches up his face. “Admit it, you like it! Anyway, I’m just making up for before, so don’t give me hell for it. It’s an apology, okay? Take the damn thing!”

He’s met with laughter. “God, you’re so easy to wind up. Doing great on the whole apology front, darling.”

The mere word  _ darling _ is making a whole new layer of butterflies ignite in Poison’s stomach. “I know, pumpkin.”

“Moving fast, aren’t we?” Ghoul teases. “Pet names already.”

Poison laughs. “I’ll move as fast as I fucking want. I’m gonna take you on romantic picnics and watch the sunset with you and do all that fancy shit to like, properly court you or something.” He pauses. “Does anyone even say court anymore?”

Ghoul reaches up and ruffles his hair. “No, they definitely don’t,” he says affectionately. “But I’ll take it.”

Poison opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by a yawn. Ghoul smiles. “I’ve got a tent in the car.”

“Oh thank fuck. You’re a lifesaver, Ghoulie. The very best.”

Ghoul laughs and stands up, ignoring Poison’s grumble of protest. “Oh, I know, baby.” He dusts himself off. “Now, you gonna help me set up or am I gonna have to do everything? All by myself? Again?” 

Poison doesn’t think he would’ve been able to say no to Ghoul, doe eyes or not.

It doesn’t take much time for them to get the little blue tent in place in front of the remnants of the fire. Poison runs a finger over the crumbling design painted on the side. It’s mostly faded now, but he can catch the peeling black outline of a guitar. “Hey, did I draw this?”

“Yeah, who else?”

“God, that was a bad painting,” he says, cringing at the faint outline. The sides are slightly wonky. 

Ghoul feigns offence. “Hey, I kept the tent because of that painting! Don’t you go insulting my taste now.”

Poison positively fucking lights up- they’re really not going to need the fire any more at this point if he keeps beaming at everything Ghoul says like a human glow-stick. “Oh yeah? And what’s your taste?”

Ghoul snorts. “You, idiot.”

As he said. Human glow-stick.

Poison holds the flap of the tent open and gestures for Ghoul to go inside. “After you, sweetheart,” he says, all mock chivalry. 

Ghoul’s lips lift in a lopsided smile as he grabs their sleeping bags and ducks inside. Following him, Poison makes sure not to hit his head on the roof of the tent. Ghoul grabs his hand and pulls him down onto the sleeping bag beside him. “Imagine if we hadn’t been so stupid to begin with,” he muses thoughtfully.   


“About what?”

Ghoul gestures vaguely at the tent door. “If I hadn’t gotten engaged with Jenny first. If I’d told you how I felt. If you- if you hadn’t…”

“Fucked up,” Poison says matter-of-factly. Ghoul laughs. “Ever articulate, aren’t you? But yeah.” He slips an arm around Poison’s waist. 

“Well, the Fabulous Four would still be together, for one.” Poison plants a kiss on Ghoul’s head, marvelling at the fact that he  _ can _ . Ghoul’s probably still a little sore about that topic, he thinks. Then, like a clock tower striking twelve, the idea bursts into his head in a beam of light. 

He turns to look at Ghoul properly. “Do you miss it?”

“Being in the Killjoys?” Ghoul looks at him like he just sprouted an extra head. “Obviously!”

“Do you…” Poison hesitates for a second. Would it be unfair to ask this, to give Ghoul false hope? Ghoul tilts his head, prompting him on, and he decides, fuck it. He’s going to do this. He’s going to fix the last thing he messed up.

“Do you wanna restart the Killjoys?” 

Ghoul’s eyes widen. “If you’re fucking with me, I swear to God-” Poison can see the vulnerability in his expression and he’s hit with another wave of guilt at just how much he’d hurt him. Not just by leaving him. Ghoul’s felt so much pain just from the ending of the Killjoys. Fuck, Poison wants to fix everything. Bundle Ghoul up in a thousand blankets and never let anyone hurt him, himself included.

“No, no no no,” he hurries out. “I mean it. I ended the Killjoys because- because I wanted some semblance of a normal life. I wanted the comfort of pills, of a routine, but I was wrong. The whole time I was in Bat City, I wanted the Killjoys back. I wanted  _ you _ back, Ghoulie. Kobra and Jet are both still in the Zones- we can find them!”

Ghoul’s lips curve upwards. He plants a kiss on Poison’s cheek. “Okay,” he whispers.

Poison beams and laces his fingers with Ghoul’s. “We’re gonna act all couple-y in front of them and there isn’t gonna be anything they can do about it,” he says with a grin.

“Oh?” Ghoul quirks an eyebrow. “If that’s your kind of fantasy, should I be disturbed?”

He grabs Poison’s face and aggressively presses their lips together, the momentum sending Poison flailing and landing on his back, Ghoul on top of him. Poison chuckles softly, pulling the blanket on top of them. “What was that for?”

Ghoul grins and gets off him. “Nothing. Just because.”

“You really haven’t changed, have you?” Poison pulls him closer so their bodies are basically squashed together. He cards his fingers through Ghoul’s hair. “You might want a comb, by the way,” he murmurs.

“Oh, fuck off,” Ghoul says, nestling his head on Poison’s chest. “I’m not a diva, unlike someone.”

Poison smacks his head lightly. “Hey!” 

“You have hair dye in your car instead of food,” Ghoul points out. 

Poison can, all too unfortunately, see that this is an argument that he isn’t going to be winning. “At least I’m pretty,” he says, settling for kicking off his boots and having the satisfaction of seeing them ricochet off the sides of the tent. Ghoul laughs before doing the same.

“Get some sleep, beauty queen,” he says, his voice muffled by the fabric of Poison’s shirt.

“You  _ do _ think I’m pretty!” Poison crows triumphantly. Ghoul snorts. “Have I ever denied it? Okay, darling, you’re pretty as hell, happy?”

Poison knows it’s a joke, but that doesn’t stop the warm tingling that spreads through him from head to toe. “Yup.” He buries his face in Ghoul’s hair. “God, I can’t believe you’re mine.”

Ghoul flushes; it’s apparent even in the dim starlight filtering in. “Well, I wouldn’t want to think of myself as a possession…” he drawls.

“Oh, come on, you know that’s not what I meant!”

Ghoul grins. “I’m just messing with you. Fuck yeah I’m yours.”

He’s met with the response of a kiss pressed to the nape of his neck and an arm looped around his waist. “Are we going to find Kobra and Jet tomorrow, by the way?”

Poison nods. “I haven’t seen either of them in so long...especially Kobra.” He thinks of the not-exactly-legal letters they’ve exchanged back and forth via the network of rebels within the city. Back in 2019, the only way in and out of Battery City was the giant tunnel crawling with armed guards; now, four years later, there are exits everywhere so long as you know where to look for them. It was especially easy for him as he was situated near the perimeters of the biodome. The hardest part now isn’t breaking people out. It’s convincing them to leave. 

The hardest part is getting them off the pills.

His brother has long forgiven him for breaking up the Killjoys, he knows, but Kobra still wasn’t happy because he knew Poison wasn’t. Does he know he’s back out in the Zones? Will he even be happy to see Poison? They’ve always been close, but Poison’s decision has undeniably driven a wedge between them.

“Kobra still loves you, Pois,” Ghoul says quietly, as if he can read his thoughts. Poison blinks, startled, as Ghoul starts rubbing soothing circles on his back. “You’re still his brother. He’ll be happy to see you, I promise. You’re bringing the fucking Killjoys back, for fuck’s sake. That’s like, celebration worthy!”

Poison breathes out a laugh, sinking into Ghoul’s embrace. “I know, I know. But still…” he trails off, already anticipating the response of “don’t worry” or “everything’s okay”. 

It doesn’t come. Instead, Ghoul smiles and gently brushes his hair out of his eyes. “Wanna talk about it? Get it all out.”

Poison’s heart nearly overflows with all the love and gratitude he’s feeling for that idiot at this moment. And he knows it sounds so fucking cheesy, but it’s true. There isn’t a damn person in this world who treats Poison like Ghoul. How could he have expected that kind of standard, reassuring-but-also-not answer from him? That’s never been Ghoul. “Everything’s not okay if you’re not okay” is always what he’s trying to tell Poison. He doesn’t have to pretend to be strong, or something he’s not. Which, honestly, had always been hard because Poison’s never really known exactly who he is.

But, in this moment, he feels it. He can be genuine, even ugly if that’s what he is. Because Ghoul finds beauty in that. 

“I’m not saying you complete me or anything,” he murmurs into Ghoul’s ear. “But you sure make me a hell of a lot better.”

Ghoul squeezes his hand; he squeezes back. He takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll talk,” he says. “All my thoughts when I was in Bat City, not many of them pleasant, so get ready for one fucking long ride.”

Ghoul smiles and leans into him like a child eagerly anticipating a bedtime story. “Sounds good to me.”

Poison’s never loved him more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the venom- *cough* I mean, comments and kudos. Seriously though, your nice comments make my day! Thanks for being such lovely readers :)
> 
> 55 days until Halloween...


	8. Chapter 8

The next day dawns bright like a promise. Poison can’t deny the little skip of his heart when he opens his eyes to see Ghoul’s face inches from his own. “Morning, sleepy-head,” he says with a smile, his breath ghosting over Poison’s lips.

Poison leans down and kisses him. Ghoul makes a little noise of surprise and then his arms are snaking around Poison’s waist, pulling them closer. 

Ghoul’s the one to finally pull away. He grins up at Poison. “As much as I’d love to do this all day, we have stuff on the agenda, remember?”

Poison brightens at the thought of Kobra and Jet. “Yeah,” he says, smiling softly. “They’re living in another diner in Zone 3.”

Ghoul laughs. “That’s as close to settling down as those two can get. God, I’ve missed them.” He allows himself a quiet moment of reminiscence, a moment of rare stillness, before his face breaks into his usual smile and he shoos Poison off the sleeping bag. “C’mon, we haven’t got all day!”

Fondly rolling his eyes, Poison obliges. Piling their sleeping bags in the trunk of Snippy, Ghoul’s train wreck of a car, they fold up the tent with a coordinated precision Poison’s almost forgotten about. It’s muscle memory at this point- undo the tent pegs, grab the corners on one side. He smiles again at the doodles on the side as they tuck the tent into the car. 

“Have you ever wondered what’s beyond the Zones?”

Poison looks up, startled. “I don’t know. Route Guano?”

Ghoul shakes his head. “No. Beyond that, I mean.” There’s a strangely contemplative look on his face as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “Come on, sugar, get in.”

Poison does, trying and failing to fight his blush. “Anyway. I’ve honestly never really thought about it- even the Zones are a desert. Beyond that it could be hell for all we know.”

“Sounds fun,” Ghoul quipps. He revs up the engine with an aggressive twist and grins. “So what’s the plan?”

Poison blinks. “Find Kobra and Jet, announce the Killjoy reunion?”

“No, dummy. After that. What’s the plan for the Killjoys? Bomb Bl/ind? Evacuation operations? Because we’ve done all that.” The car screeches off at an alarming velocity, but Poison barely notices.

His mind is racing through different pathways of possibilities. Because Ghoul is right, they do need a plan. 

And he thinks he has it.

He grins at Ghoul. “Babe, how would you like to explore beyond the zones?”

Ghoul positively lights up. “Really?”

He laughs. “Yeah! Bombing BL/ind can always wait, right? Plus who knows what we might find out there? It might just be the key.”

“Fuck yes.” And Ghoul hits the gas and oh, they’re way past ninety. But Poison decides, fuck that. Fuck caution because where had that ever gotten him? In Bat City, away from Ghoul, that’s what.

“Zone 5 coming up,” Ghoul announces, and Poison looks up just in time to see a red sign flash in front of them before they whir past. 

“Just look at all that desert,” he marvels. “Christ, I sound like I’m a tourist.”

Ghoul laughs. “Yeah, you do, princess,” he says, earning a sharp elbow to the ribs. He doesn’t even flinch- fucker doesn’t ever seem to feel physical pain. “I get what you mean, though,” he says, still chuckling. “Bat City is really mind numbing.”

And then it occurs to Poison. “Wait, why were you there to begin with? I was the only one who signed up to go.”

Ghoul sighs and Poison’s eyes widen with realisation. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah, oh fuck is right.” Ghoul steers them skillfully around an abandoned building, tyres screeching and skidding across the sand. “Korse wasn’t about to let three out of four Killjoys stay out in the Zones. Kobra and Jet needed to escape.”

“You held them back. So they could save themselves.”

Ghoul shrugs. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Tears spring to Poison’s eyes again. Shit. “God, Ghoulie, I’m so sorry-”

“Stop apologizing, sweetheart.” Ghoul smiles at him. “I swear to Satan, if you say sorry one more time, I’ll actually strangle you. That’s all water under the bridge now, okay?”

Poison sniffles and snorts. “We’re in the middle of a desert right now.”

“Your point being? Metaphorical water, Pois.”

He laughs again, tears already drying at the corners of his eyes. Only Ghoul can make him happy in the span of two seconds. “I love you,” he says softly, only faintly registering that he’s said the words out loud. He knows he’s already said it before, but he’d gladly say it again, a million times again.

Ghoul tenses, knuckles whitening around the steering wheel and for a second Poison is scared he’s said the wrong thing. But then the familiar red creeps its way back onto Ghoul’s cheeks and down his neck. “Fuck you, I could’ve crashed the car!”

Poison snorts. “You’re kind of a crash risk no matter what, Ghoulie.”

He hums. “Oh, and for the record, I love you too.”

“Only for the record?”

There’s a mischievous glimmer in Ghoul’s eyes. “Why, what do you want me to say?”

Poison groans and buries his head in his hands. “You’re an insufferable idiot.”

“ _Your_ insufferable idiot,” Ghoul points out, and he really can’t argue with that.

_♡_

It’s another four hours before they finally reach Zone 3. Dusk is already falling over the sky like a curtain, washing it aglow with soft pinks and purples. Poison simply _has_ to paint Ghoul against a backdrop like this sometime. But even the prospect of pastel watercolours can’t distract him from the pounding of his heart and thrumming of electricity through his veins. They’re finally doing this. He’s finally going to see Kobra and Jet. His little brother, oh god. How had Poison ever been apart from him?

Ghoul gives his hand a reassuring squeeze and he decides not to question why he has a free hand while driving. “Electric Century Diner,” he says for the upteenth time. “Oh my god, Ghoulie, that’s such a cool name!”

Ghoul laughs. “Yeah? Should we rename the Killjoys something like that?”

He purses his lips. “Actually, you guys can make the call this time.” It’s a subtle way of handing over his power, of showing that, this time, he isn’t going to be dumb and headstrong. Ghoul smiles, _really_ smiles, and Poison knows he gets it. He always does.

A blue speck has appeared on the horizon now, a sturdy block against the vast desert, and Poison gasps. “That’s it!” 

Ghoul’s eyes widen. “Oh my god. They’re really here! Pois, it’s fucking Jet and Kobra!”

Poison can just make out a wisp of smoke curling out from the chimney and the glow of a neon sign and barely holds back a laugh. “Damn, they really upgraded from the old diner, didn’t they?”

Ghoul snorts. “I mean, who names a diner The Diner?”

Poison elbows him in the ribs.

The sand seems to fall away behind them as they get closer and closer, and the dot of blue becomes a cube, and then finally, the form of a cosy brick building. There’s the faint, tinny sound of music blaring from within, pulsing bass like a heartbeat, and Poison smiles.

“Bet you Jet is gonna see us first,” Ghoul comments, hitting the gas. There’s a squealing of tires, a crunch of gravel beneath the wheels, and the shitty car spins in a full circle before the car skids to a stop in front of the diner. Poison gags. His knuckles are white from gripping the seat handle. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

Ghoul laughs at him, merrily unaffected, and rubs soothing circles into his back. “Come on, drama queen.” 

Poison’s nerves apparently override his carsickness, though, because his nausea almost immediately disappears once he straightens up. “A kiss for luck?” he asks breathlessly. He’s going to see Kobra. He’s going to see Jet. And he’s with Ghoul. He has to be the luckiest fucker alive.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Ghoul whispers, and pulls him in. Their lips collide and Poison sees stars. Galaxies and galaxies of stars. He gasps and Ghoul responds by running his hands down his back, earning a shiver of pleasure. He’s just about to slip his hands into Ghoul’s gorgeously wind-ruffled hair when there’s a shriek behind them.

“Poison? Ghoul? Oh my god!” A familiar voice cries shrilly. They pull apart to see a gaping Jet Star.

“Jet!” They simultaneously scramble out of the car and launch themselves at him. He laughs and embraces them in a crushing hug. “Oh my god, you guys are back!”

“Yeah,” Poison murmurs into his frizzy hair. “And we’re never leaving again.” 

Jet diarms them with a beaming smile that could power the entirety of Bat City. “I missed you two so much!”

“Missed you too, Starry,” Ghoul grins, and Jet gives him a look. “All right, midget.”

The doors swing open and a frenzied Kobra bursts out. “Oh my fucking god!” he yells, and throws himself at Poison. Poison opens his arms just in time to catch him.

“Kobra oh my god, my little coffee bean,” he babbles, murmuring incoherent sentences into his brother’s ear. He catches the reply of a series of affectionate “fuck yous” in response. Kobra’s still all jutting angular bones, he notices as he releases him. And still annoyingly taller than him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you just call me a coffee bean?” Then his poker face cracks and he bursts into laughter. “I missed you too, big bro.”

Poison wipes away the tears already threatening to reveal themselves at the corners of his eyes. “I love you, coffee bean.” He puts on a melodramatic expression and pinches Kobra’s cheeks. “Oh, you grow up so fast!”

Kobra punches him in the shoulder just as the fireball that’s Fun Ghoul throws himself at him. “Kobra Kobra Kobra oh my god,” he hears just before his brother nearly topples under his weight. For all the grumbling noises Kobra makes, though, Poison catches him hugging Ghoul back just as fiercely.

Fuck, his eyes are watering again. Must be all the desert dust.

They’re all a bit breathless after all the attack of hugs. “So I found these two making out in a car,” Jet begins, somehow thinking that would be a good starter. The two in question flush.

Kobra looks at Poison questioningly. _Emily?_ His eyes are asking. _Ghoul,_ he replies silently, and the clouds in his brother’s expression seem to part as he smirks and takes in their disheveled appearance. “Yeah, that checks out.”

“We’re officially together now, by the way,” Poison eagerly announces, clasping Ghoul’s hand in his own. 

“Fucking finally,” Jet mutters, and they both blush. “Jesus Christ, Kobra and I made bets on you two _years_ ago.”

“And I win,” Kobra says matter-of-factly.

Jet squawks. “ _What?_ ”

“My bet was December of 2018, and yours was October. It’s March 2023 now, so my guess is closer, get it, nimrod?”

Poison leans in to whisper in Ghoul’s ear. “Wanna make out again to gross them out?”

Ghoul grins, devilish and happy, and Poison’s stomach swoops. “Hell yeah.”

They pick up right where they left off and Ghoul takes the liberty of making the most obscene noises, which would normally send Poison into a flurry of laughter if he weren't so wrapped up at the moment. In his peripheral vision, he can see Kobra and Jet pull disgusted faces, and he grins. “I think we did it,” he murmurs against Ghoul’s lips. He hums in response, and they break apart. “To be continued?”

“Fuck yeah.” Poison slips an arm around his waist and the two of them turn back to the others, both of whom look like they’d very much enjoy throwing the two of them to the wolves. 

Kobra is the first to speak. “Okay, I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t see that. You, my friends, have a fuckton of explaining to do.”

“Come in,” Jet pipes up. “We’ve got coffee and tissues in case Poison cries.” Poison grins at them all. 

“Sold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I'm so sorry for taking a solid month to write a chapter! I hope this delivers, and if you liked it, please consider writing a comment! I love them so much and it was actually a sweet comment that motivated me to finish this chapter xD. Thank you so much for sticking with me! 
> 
> We're nearing the end- two more chapters to go! I'm planning a new fic, too- the student/teacher trope but pure fluff and slow burn, what do you guys think?
> 
> Can't wait for Halloween! xoxo


	9. Chapter 9

“So how the hell did you two end up together again?” is the first thing Jet asks. They’re all nestled in the worn but plush red sofas that line the front room of Kobra and Jet’s revamped diner. Poison looks around at the blue-painted walls, the guitar propped on proper stands and the sheet music and coffee mugs scattered across a dining table. Ghoul was right- this is one hell of an upgrade.

Kobra’s eyes widen and he snorts. “Oh my god, the letter on the radio.”

Ghoul groans and buries his face in his hands as Kobra cackles and even Jet’s looking like he’s holding back a laugh. “That was so sappy, Jesus Christ!” Poison shoots his brother a mock glare. “Stop making Ghoulie feel bad!”

That has Jet cracking up. “You call him Ghoulie, oh my fucking god-” he wheezes at the same time Kobra claps a dramatic hand to his chest and declares, “Oh, I can’t possibly live without you, darling!”

Poison can feel his face reddening to the colour equivalent of a beetroot. “Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, but there’s no venom to it.

“I agree with Poison,” comes Ghoul’s muffled voice from where he’s moved on to burying his face in Poison’s neck. Jet gives them a very, _very_ suggestive look that he pointedly ignores.

Well, okay, not completely ignores. He does pull a rather unflattering face and unceremoniously gives Jet and Kobra the finger. “Okay, moving swiftly on to less embarrassing topics!”

Ghoul perks up at that. “Wanna restart the Killjoys, guys?”

The two other Killjoys both stop at that. Kobra’s got a smile, a softer, different kind of smile playing on his face. “I had a feeling you’d say that,” he muses. His face splits into a wider grin. “Yes.”

Jet looks so unbelievably happy, to say he lit up would be an understatement. He surreptitiously reaches for the box of tissues.

Poison laughs, partly in relief. What had he been scared of- his friends balking at the idea and turning away?

No, he was the only one who did that, it seemed.

Ghoul, ever observant, squeezes his hand.

Kobra makes a face. “To think I missed you two lovebirds.”

“Oh, he definitely did,” Jet says with an all-knowing grin. Poison thinks he would have continued if Kobra hadn’t slapped his hand. “You’re supposed to be on my side, asshole!”

Jet only laughs and stands up. “Okay, we can hatch out plans for the Killjoys over dinner later. We’ve got a whole barbecue here. But first we gotta show you two your rooms.” He pauses. “Or room.”

“There are bedrooms in this place? Multiple?” Ghoul almost shrieks and Poison sniggers.

Kobra hits him on the head with the tissue box. His long-standing affair with violence hasn’t changed, it would appear. “Steady there, fireball. This place came with a couple spare rooms so we turned them into bedrooms. Jet and I both have rooms on the second floor and you two can have the third floor.”

They troop up the stairs, Poison (childishly, he’ll admit) insisting on placing his hand on Ghoul’s back the entire time. Kobra only rolls his eyes.

When they reach the third floor landing, Jet grins. “Drumroll, please.”

Ghoul obligingly taps his fingers on the bannister as he flings open the door with a flourish. “Welcome to your new room, boys.”

“I’m older than you,” Poison grumps, but he can’t hold back a smile when he sees Ghoul’s reaction to the room. It’s a cozy little attic bedroom, with an iron wrought double bed and even a slightly moth-eaten carpet on the floor. An open skylight is letting in the last of the sunset’s rays, and Ghoul dramatically turns and pretends to swoon. “Dude, this is fucking rad!”

“I see you haven’t brushed up on your vocabulary,” Kobra quips dryly, but there’s a crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

“Anyway, bathroom’s over there,” Jet says, pointing to another door across the corridor. “You two get this one all to yourselves.”

Ghoul wraps Jet in another tight hug he endures with infinite patience before bounding off into the room and flinging himself onto the bed. Jet barks out a half-laugh before tramping down the stairs again. “Dinner in half an hour, don’t be late!” he calls. Mother hen.

At the doorway, Kobra smiles. “Okay, brother dearest, now that your boyfriend’s settled, I think it’s time we had a talk.”

_♡_

Poison’s stomach swoops. “I- is this something bad?”

His brother rolls his eyes before dragging him none too gently down the steps and onto the second floor. “You sound like you think I’m going to murder you, for fuck’s sake!” Pulling them both into a room, he kicks the door shut. 

“Talk to me. Look, Pois, I just…” He wrings his hands before peering very, very intently into Poison’s face. He balks. “What the hell?”

“Your pupils are normal,” Kobra muses. He grabs his wrist to start feeling for his pulse before Poison realises what’s going on. “I’m not high, you fucker!”

Kobra lets go a little sheepishly. “Sorry. I just don’t know what to think.”

Poison’s brow furrows. “About?”

 _Emily,_ his brother’s eyes say.

Oh. Fuck.

He drops heavily onto Kobra’s bed. Still littered with comics, a fuzzy part of his brain notices. “It was my fault.”

Kobra lifts an eyebrow, encouraging him to go on. 

“I heard Ghoul’s letter on the radio, realised I would never stop loving him, called him and met him at the diner, and then-” His throat tightens. “And then Jenny came in with the news.”

His knuckles whiten around the blankets. “I left her alone, Kobra! If I’d stayed, she’d still be alive!” He sighs and shakes his head. “And I- I broke down after I heard the news. I kind of like, re-lived everything like a highlight reel in my head. But then Ghoul was there.” He lets out all his breath.

“It’s weird. One moment I’m wracked with earth-shattering guilt and the next I’m happy and content because of the _infuriatingly_ wonderful phenomenon that is Fun Ghoul.” He looks imploringly into his brother’s eyes. “I should be mourning, I shouldn’t be this fucking happy right now!”

 _Tell me I’m right_ , he pleads silently. _Tell me I should be mourning. Fix me._

Kobra’s gaze softens. “Look. You two were in Bat City for a whole year. That does things to your head. Neither of you were happy in your marriages because you’re both crazy for each other. As much as this grosses me out to say, you’ve wanted him for so long. So fucking long, Poison. You have disgusted me for _years_ on end with your pining and those lovesick eyes you make at him. I think you feel emotions in a more intense way than everyone else, you know. And you’ve had your share of sadness and grief, over the years. I think it’s high time you were happy for once.”

Poison is silent and Kobra takes it as a cue to continue. “It wouldn’t have made a difference if you’d stayed, because you two didn’t even work the same jobs. The store where she worked was a solid hour away from your house.” He gives Poison an exasperatedly fond look. “Yeah, I read your letters. There’s a time for everything, a time for me to cry over how your stupid handwriting hasn’t changed and you _still_ draw those dumb cartoon characters in your letters even though you’re meant to be married and dignified, there’s a time for you and Ghoul to finally find each other again, and there was a time for Emily.”

He gives Poison a surprisingly insightful look. It’s not probing, merely observing. (Poison suspects he’s telepathic at times.) “You saw her,” he says simply.

Poison nods numbly. “She said goodbye.”

“I think she always knew,” Kobra says quietly. “She always knew you loved Ghoul. Romance is… was never her goal.”

Poison’s breath hitches. “She was aromantic.”

How had he, in all those years of knowing her, never noticed? God, it all made sense now-

Kobra cuts off his train of thought. “Yeah. So if that makes you feel any better, she wasn’t in love with you either. She loved you, yes, and she was a good person and a loyal friend. But she never wanted anything more than that. She only gave you the title of marriage because that was what _you_ wanted.”

Poison squeezes his eyes shut in a vain attempt to stop the tears from welling up. “Fuck.”

“And it was time for her, I think. She’d done all she could in this place. I mean, she led a rebel faction for a straight decade and designed about forty types of bombs. You can’t really do more than that, can you? She was deadlocked in Bat City and I guess it was just...fate for her to move on. From this world to the next.”

Swiping roughly at his eyes, Poison sniffles. “I hope she’s happy where she is.”

“She is. She wants you to be happy, too. Not poisonously, perpetually happy like before. Actually happy.” He snorts. “A feat I’m sure you can manage, emotionally stunted though you are.”

Poison stares in bafflement at his brother. “Sometimes I forget you’re actually smart,” he says in wonder. “How the fuck do you know all this?”

Kobra smiles wryly. “I know things, remember?”

_♡_

Heading back up to his and Ghoul’s room, Poison’s head is spinning. Has Kobra somehow aged ten years in the time that he’s been gone? The hollow feeling at the thought of Emily is gone, though, replaced by a shining image of her smile. Like a photograph dream. At peace at last. 

He’d let his finally fulfilled love for Ghoul rush over him like a tidal wave, drowning everything else out. Always on a tightrope between two extremes.

Now is a good time to find balance, he thinks.

Ghoul opens the door for him and leans against the doorjamb. “You okay? You look a little...worn out.”

Poison smiles weakly and stumbles into his arms. A little startled, he catches him nonetheless. “Whoa, whoa, what’s going on?”

“Kobra gave me a long, long talk.”

Ghoul quirks an eyebrow. “If I remember correctly, I’m the one supposed to be on the receiving end of the whole _if you hurt him, I’ll kill you_ spiel.”

Poison laughs and buries his head in Ghoul’s chest. “No, no. Just came to a few epiphanies.”

He plants his lips firmly on Ghoul’s, pitching them both backwards into the room. “I love you,” he murmurs into the kiss. He doesn’t even try to hold back the torrent of tears that stains both their cheeks. There’s been so, so much wrong with his life the past two years, leaving Ghoul, losing Emily, succumbing to BL/ind. And for the past two days, he’s been a faucet, either only able to feel overwhelming happiness or crushing grief.

He was hot and cold, numb then bursting with life, a volcano of emotion that suddenly froze over, but he’s finally let go. It’s the last knot untangled. 

Emily’s ghost smiles upon them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearly at the end, guys! Thank you so, so much for sticking with me so far! This chapter went in a completely different direction than what I'd first planned and I hope it tied up some loose ends in previous chapters. Hang in there, I have a surprise planned for the last chapter!
> 
> Your comments and kudos are vastly appreciated! You guys are absolutely lovely and I hope your day goes well :) xoxo


	10. Chapter 10

Poison wakes up to the unfamiliar sensation of a soft bed beneath him and a warm weight atop him. Ghoul’s sprawled on top of him, his face buried in Poison’s neck and his arm snaked around his waist while Poison’s got a protective hand on the small of his back. Their legs are somehow intertwined in a way that’s more comfortable than awkward, and Ghoul’s mop of dark hair tickles Poison’s chin. His heart expands as he splays his hand on Ghoul’s back and gently strokes, secure in the knowledge that this, this right here, is  _ theirs _ .

“Hey, love,” he murmurs, breaking into a smile as Ghoul slowly stirs. 

“Pois?” he mumbles. He halfheartedly bats at Poison’s face but stops in favour of cupping his cheek and running his hand over his lover’s features. “Fuck off. Actually don’t,” he slurs, fingers now tracing Poison’s right eyelid. It tickles.

Poison huffs out a breath of laughter. “You are insufferable, you know that?”

“You still love me.” Ghoul burrows his face into the crook of Poison’s neck before groaning, “Now shut up and lemme sleep.”

Poison gently combs his fingers through his lover’s hair. He doesn’t notice he’s whispering sweet nothings into the shell of Ghoul’s ear until one phrase stands out from the others.

“Marry me.”

The world seems to stop. His heart thumps all too acutely against his ribcage. Fuck, what did he just say? Oh God, this isn’t the place or the time and dammit he had a plan!-

“Yes.”

Ghoul is wide awake now, gold-green eyes shining in the morning light. “Yes,” he breathes again, shellstruck. “I... _ yes _ ,  _ yes!” _

He grabs Poison’s face and sweeps him into a bruising kiss. Poison’s heart explodes with all the fucking butterflies of a teeanger. How is it that, after all these years, Ghoul still has his heartstrings wrapped around his pinky finger?

He smiles into the kiss and Ghoul breaks it with a laugh, pressing their foreheads together. “Fuck you, I was gonna propose!”

Poison snorts. “It’s been long enough, hasn’t it?” With far too much effort on his part, he hauls himself up, Ghoul still clinging onto him like a koala. “C’mon, sugar, let’s go downstairs.”

“Only if you carry me.”

So that’s how Poison winds up with an armful of Fun Ghoul, one hand cradled under his head and the other under his knees. Ghoul laughs far too much when Poison struggles to walk down the stairs, the fucker.

Kobra and Jet, already sat at the table, pull matching faces of disgust when they walk in. Ghoul jumps blithely down and grins at them. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Kobra groans and raises an eyebrow at Poison. “Should I ask?”

“Pois already did.”

Poison splutters and there’s a moment of confusion as the two Killjoys struggle to understand. Then it seems as though something clicks in the room, like a key in a lock, and electricity crackles through the air. 

“You fucking what?” Kobra yells, launching himself out of the chair.

Jet’s coffee mug drops to the floor as he engulfs both of them in a hug. “Congratulations, you guys!”

Ghoul grins from ear to ear as Poison loops an arm around his waist. He turns to his boyfriend. “Hey, when do you wanna get married?”

Poison laughs. “Today sounds good.” He smiles at the disbelief on his brother’s face. “Oh, come on, Kobra!”

“Con-gratu-fucking-lations,” he deadpans. Then a rare smile breaks across his face and for a moment, Poison sees a glimpse of his kid brother again. “I’m happy for you,” he says softly. 

He claps Ghoul on the back. “Here’s my blessing, shortcake. Here’s to never having to see you and my brother pining like losers again.”

Jet hoots with laughter, drowning out Ghoul’s half-hearted protests about the attack on his height. He grins at Kobra. “Come on, let’s get these two idiots married.”

_ ♡ _

For a ceremony that got pulled together in less than an hour, this really isn’t bad, Poison thinks as he surveys the “garden”. Outside the diner, Kobra and Jet have set up a small, spray-painted golden arch of broken guitar strings (courtesy of one Fun Ghoul) with a trail of shredded paper leading up to it. Poison wouldn’t be surprised if those were confidential government papers. 

It’s perfect.

He turns to Kobra, who gives him a wry smile before fixing the collar of his blue leather jacket for the umpteenth time. “Your hair looks like shit, but we don’t have time to fix that now,” he grumbles, shoving him into place under the arch. 

Poison squawks (not that he’d admit to it). “Hey!”

His brother only grins and points at the door of the diner. “Too late, Ghoul’s here.” The double doors swing open and Poison’s jaw drops.

There, silhouetted in the doorway, is the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. Ghoul smiles almost bashfully as he walks down the aisle, his eyes alight and his hair like a halo atop his head. His dyed  _ blond _ hair. He stops in front of Poison and his usual impish grin is back. “Like it?”

“Y-You,” Poison only manages dumbly, unable to tear his eyes away. God, they don’t even have rings, but he’d marry this man with nothing but the knowledge of the synchronous heartbeats. He  _ is _ marrying Ghoul. The thought takes his breath away.

Ghoul stands on his tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “I think you’re beautiful too.”

There’s a pointed clearing of a throat and they turn, embarrassed, to see Jet behind them, holding a lock and a key. “Ahem.”

In front of them, their solitary audience of Kobra snorts. 

Jet beams at both of them. “Okay, I’ll officiate because no one else here is eloquent enough,” he says cheerily, earning a glare from Kobra and a suppressed giggle from Ghoul. Poison feels the corners of his lips turning up, but he’s too fixated on his husband-to-be to think much about it. Ghoul’s eyes are ethereal, he decides.

His train of thought is interrupted by Jet’s best attempt at a priest-like voice. “Do you, Party Poison, take Fun Ghoul to be your illegally wedded husband?” He hands Poison the lock, threaded through a chain to make a necklace.

Poison takes Ghoul’s hand and squeezes, feeling impossibly light. “I do.” He slips the lock over his husband’s-  _ husband’s _ !- head.

“And do you, Fun Ghoul, take Party Poison to be your illegally wedded husband?”

“Fuck yeah I do.” With uncharacteristic gentleness, Ghoul clasps the key around Poison’s neck.

“You may kiss the- oh, fuck, okay.”

Poison’s not entirely sure who lunges for who first, but they’ve latched onto each other within a millisecond. Ghoul’s hands are in his hair, and his are on Ghoul’s waist, and goddamn, kissing his husband is really something different.

In the background, he hears Kobra making retching noises, which they both blissfully ignore.

By the time Kobra and Jet manage to prise the two of them off each other, both of them are light-headed and laughing like maniacs. “Guys,” Poison gasps, “Wanna go on our first trip as the Killjoys again?”

When the dizzying laughter subsides, Jet, clucking his tongue like a mother hen, shepherds them both back into the diner and seats them on a sofa. 

“I should’ve known even your wedding would be fucking crazy,” Kobra mutters, but there’s an undeniable smile on his face.

Jet absentmindedly plucks at the strings of his guitar, somehow producing god-level music. “So, what’s this about another Killjoy mission?”

“Pois suggested going beyond the Zones,” Ghoul explains. “Figuring out what’s out there.”

Kobra’s brow furrows. “What does that have to do with defeating BL/ind?”

“We need new tactics, new allies,” Poison says. “BL/ind has been continuously bombed for the past decade. It’s not going to work anymore. And who knows? Maybe we’ve been living in a bubble this whole time and Bat City is just an insignificant dot in this universe. Maybe the rest of the world is destroyed. But if we’re gonna make a difference, we’ve got to find out. You guys in?”

There’s a chorus of affirmation and Poison’s chest swells. “Good. Come on then, masks on. Keys to the Trans Am?”

Jet tosses him a silver keychain. “Glad to have you back, frontman.”

And as they pile into the car, guns loaded in their holsters, Poison slips a hand into Ghoul’s. Lock and key. 

Pressing his foot to the pedal, he takes a deep breath and presses down, hard. They screech down the road, tearing through the sand, away from the diner, away from what they’ve known. They’re taking the shortcut through Zone 4 to the border.

Together into hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh this is it guys, the ending!! Sorry for taking so long and I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! This is the longest project I've ever finished and I'm honestly so proud of it! (Ahaha I hope finally completing this merits a little bit of bragging.) 
> 
> When I initially wrote the first chapter, I didn't expect anyone to actually read it or want a continuation, and I just want you to know that each and every kudo and comment is so unbelievably motivating! Thank you for reading this, you lovely people, and I hope you have a fantastic day :)
> 
> The next fic is coming soon!


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